what was that pipsqueak?

your parents called it a “small gathering,” even though there were always too many slippers by the front door and too many soda cans sweating on every table. you liked those nights anyway, mostly because they never changed. and especially because you get to hear your aunties and uncles dousing you with compliments about how cute your eyes are.

but they also stayed in their own circles like planets orbiting each other, carrying paper plates and stories they had already told before. meanwhile, all the other younger children drifted wherever they wanted, forming temporary little worlds in corners of the house.

tonight, your world sat cross-legged on the living room carpet. or rather—two boys your age did. you watched them from the armchair nearest the staircase, your chin resting against the cushion while your legs dangled over the edge.

caleb and zayne were sitting side by side beneath the warm yellow glow of the standing lamp, completely absorbed in a puzzle game spread across the floor between them.

they looked nothing alike even back then.

the brown-haired one sat carelessly sprawled on his stomach with his socks mismatched and knees bent in the air as he kicked his feet behind him. he kept stealing pieces from the wrong pile just because he was impatient, humming nonsense under his breath while his hair stuck out in every direction.

“that one doesn’t even go there,” the one with round glasses says for the fifth time.

and the other could only grin at him without shame. “it could though."

“it literally cannot.”

“you wouldn't know that until we try!"

the black-haired one stared at him with the exhausted disappointment of a tired old man trapped inside a ten-year-old’s body. even as a kid, he already had that look about him.

neat posture... neatly combed dark hair... neatly folded sleeves.... he handled puzzle pieces like fragile scientific discoveries, turning each one carefully beneath the light before placing it down with precise certainty. 

you thought they were funny together. caleb was all sunlight, and zayne was all winter mornings. they truly were polar opposites, and yet somehow, they understood each other the most. somehow they still fit beside each other naturally, like they had always been arranged that way from the start.

“you skipped the steps again,” zayne muttered.

“because your steps are booooring.”

“or they’re efficient.”

“same thing.”

zayne sighed the kind of sigh adults usually made after paying bills, and it made you laugh quietly into the couch cushion. both boys looked up immediately at the sound you accidentally let out. it was strange, looking back on it now, how quickly they always noticed you.

caleb brightened first, he always did. “hey!" he called, pushing himself upright so fast the puzzle pieces scattered a little. “come help us!"

“are you losing?” you asked, eyebrows raising.

“we’re winning,” 

“you are objectively losing though,” zayne said, returning his eyes at caleb, as if he couldn't handle the eye-contact with you. 

you slid off the chair and padded toward them then, stepping carefully around abandoned shoes and empty juice boxes. the carpet felt warm beneath your feet from the heat of too many people inside your house.

up close, you could see the difference between them even clearer. caleb’s cheeks looked pink from running around outside earlier, and there was a grass stain near the knee of his jeans with a bandaid on his elbow from some accident nobody had witnessed, but everybody expected. zayne, meanwhile, looked untouched by chaos itself. except for one thing, as there was a tiny pencil mark on the side of his hand.

you pointed at it with a smug look. “hey, you might want to clean that off.”

zayne looked down at his hand like he hadn’t noticed, and caleb bursted out laughing. “wow, didn't know the genius makes mistakes too.”

zayne frowned. “it’s not a mistake, pencils transfer residue naturally.”

“that sounds so made up.”

“it’s literally science, you idiot.”

“better than a nerd.”

you sat between them, eyes following the rhythm of their voices. caleb shifted first to make space for you, all easy warmth and careless movement. your shoulder bumped against his accidentally and he froze for half a second before pretending nothing happened. zayne noticed, he always seemed to notice every single thing. his eyes flickered down once before returning to the puzzle board with suspicious concentration.

you, entirely unaware, picked up a random piece. "where does this go?” both boys leaned in immediately, and for one brief second, their heads nearly knocked together over your shoulder.

those friday gatherings still happened every month, or every other week, like clockwork. same houses. same families. same folding tables lined with food nobody waited long enough to cool down before eating. but growing up was sneaky like that. one day you were all sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the carpet arguing over puzzle pieces, and then everybody started drifting into different corners of the house without meaning to.

especially the three of you.

—

you woke up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

for a few seconds, everything felt soft around the edges. sunlight spilled lazily through the classroom windows, warm and golden against your cheek where you had fallen asleep on top of your folded arms. your vision blurred slightly as you blinked awake, eyelashes sticking together from sleep.

reality returned slowly after that. you're in your classroom, and it's a friday afternoon. you lifted your head with a sleepy frown, hair flattened embarrassingly on one side. there was a faint imprint of notebook rings pressed against your skin.

“seriously?” your voice came out hoarse. “you guys couldn’t wake me up?”

“you looked really dead,” one of your classmates answered from across the room.

another pointed a broom at you accusingly. “plus i didn't know you drool when you sleep. yikes.”

“i do not.” you rubbed your eyes with the sleeve of your uniform, still too drowsy to defend yourself properly. the classroom smelled like dusty chalk, floor cleaner, and afternoon heat trapped between old walls.

outside the windows, the sky had already started turning honey-colored. the prettiest part of school days. you slowly sat upright, stretching your arms above your head until your joints cracked. you pulled out the compact mirror from your bag with a sigh, and you see your hair looking freakingly terrible. one side puffed outward from sleeping while the other remained stubbornly flat against your cheek. you tried fixing it using only your fingers, but it somehow made things worse.

“wow,” it's ridiculous to think how you still look like this at the ripe age of eighteen. after gathering your things, you slipped your bag over your shoulder and stepped outside the classroom into the corridor.

you see students drifting through the pathways in clusters, as their laughter echo faintly between buildings while teachers carried stacks of papers toward the faculty rooms. somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew from the soccer field.

fridays always carried a different kind of tiredness, the kind wrapped in anticipation. normally, friday nights meant the gatherings. the usual routine. your parents dressing up slightly nicer than necessary with trays of food balanced carefully in the car. 

you exhaled quietly through your nose. for some reason, the thought exhausted you today. maybe it was because your body feeling strangely heavy, maybe it was the headache blooming faintly behind your eyes from sleeping awkwardly at your desk, or maybe it was simply one of those days where existing around too many people sounded unbearable.

you descended the school steps slowly, your fingers tracing absentmindedly along the strap of your bag. honestly, locking yourself inside your bedroom sounded much better tonight. and maybe a movie playing quietly in the background while the sounds of the gathering muffled themselves downstairs. you could already picture it perfectly.

a breeze passed through the campus grounds then, carrying the scent of cut grass and approaching evening. you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear and kept walking toward the school gates, still half-lost in thought.

“i swear, caleb and zayne are literally impossible to approach.” the words floated past you casually, lightly. like paper airplanes tossed through the air. you almost didn’t react at first.

campus gossip traveled fast enough that hearing their names wasn’t exactly unusual anymore. still, something about the sudden shift in voices nearby tugged gently at your attention, and before you could stop yourself, your gaze wandered toward the right wing of the campus.

and there they were. caleb and zayne, walking side by side beneath the amber wash of the afternoon sun.

unsurprising. 

you’d spent nearly your entire life seeing them like this. same neighborhoods, same gatherings, same schools. always somewhere within the same orbit as each other. and yet, every time you looked at them lately, it still startled you a little how much older they’d become. the boys from your childhood memories now had stretched into something sharper and more defined. 

caleb predictably moved through crowds without effort, the way sunlight slips through open curtains without asking permission. taller now—much taller than he used to be—with broad shoulders that filled out the blue-and-white varsity jacket hanging loosely over his basketball jersey, as he smiled at nearly everyone who greeted him along the pathway.

people really greeted him everywhere. a classmate waved, and caleb would grin immediately. someone from the lower years calls his name, and he would point at them in recognition with an easy laugh. even from far away, you could tell how naturally people gravitated toward him. he carried attention like he didn’t even realize he had it.

then there was zayne beside him, quieter. where caleb moved like warmth, zayne moved like still water.

he carried several books tucked neatly against one arm while balancing his phone in the other hand, his attention split somewhere between reading messages and listening to whatever caleb was talking about. his glasses rested low against the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked like he’d adjusted them too many times throughout the day.

his sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms, posture straight despite the weight of the books. everything about him looked composed in that effortless way that somehow made him even more intimidating. still, girls glance at him when he passed, teachers greet him with visible approval, and underclassmen would straighten instinctively whenever he looked their way.

the smartest student in school and the athlete everyone adored—the popular duo.

honestly, it made sense. they looked unfairly perfect walking across campus beneath the falling afternoon light, like characters somebody specifically designed to make ordinary people feel underdressed.

you stared for maybe three seconds longer than necessary. you weren't exactly mesmerized, it's just that familiarity sometimes makes people pause. despite growing up beside them your entire life, you still didn’t really know them at all. you looked away first, adjusting your bag higher onto your shoulder and continued toward the school gates.

it didn’t matter anyway. the three of you were never actually close.

the evening breeze brushed lightly against your face as you quickened your pace down the sidewalk, already thinking about home, about your bedroom, about escaping tonight’s gathering before anyone noticed your mood.

—

by the time you got home, you went straight to your bedroom. 

downstairs, the gathering slowly came alive piece by piece. you heard doors opening, voices arriving, and laughter swelling louder. you could practically predict the entire night without looking.

you rolled onto your back and stared sleepily at the ceiling. honestly, staying hidden up here sounded perfect. your eyelids slowly began growing heavier. you were just about to fall asleep when—

*buzzzzz!*

your phone vibrated beside your pillow, making you abruptly open your eyes. with sleepy reluctance, you reached for it blindly.

the screen glowed against the dim room, and immediately, your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. because the notification said: a text message from caleb!

for a second, you genuinely thought maybe you opened the wrong chat somehow. caleb didn't really text you. sure, you had each other’s numbers. everybody did after years of family gatherings and school projects and parents insisting on “staying connected.”

but your conversations mostly lived in the realm of accidental politeness. text messages like... "happy birthday!", "can you send the assignment?", "your mom said dinner starts at seven." that kind of thing... which made the message sitting on your screen feel oddly out of place.

[18:49] caleb: "hey, wya?"

you blinked. your phone remained warm in your hand while you stared at the message. for some reason, your heartbeat suddenly felt embarrassingly loud in the quiet of your bedroom.

why would he message you that? it felt wrong, so you stared at the message again alongside his icon.

more laughter downstairs rose faintly through the floorboards, followed by the distant clinking of plates and someone calling for extra ice.

you hesitated, then typed back anyway.

[18:50] you: "in my bedroom."

you didn’t expect anything after that. you were already setting your phone down when—

*buzzzzz!*

your eyes flicked back to the screen so fast it almost startled you.

[18:50] caleb: "on my way."

“…on my way?” you whispered to yourself, sitting up so quickly your blanket slid off your lap.

what did that even mean? why would he come up? 

you swung your legs off the bed, already moving. you weren’t sure what you were doing, exactly. you just knew you were doing something. your hands started fixing things instinctively—pushing stray clothes deeper into the laundry basket, straightening a book on your desk that was already straight, and then shoving your charger under the pillow.

what does caleb even want right now?

a knock on your door sounded.

for a second, your brain refused to process it as anything important. it was as if your body had decided to pretend it didn’t hear it at all.

then, another knock, louder this time.

so you had no choice but to slowly reach for the door handle. still hesitating, you twist the doorknob, pulling the barrier open. 

"hey," and there he was standing in your doorway. 

he was taller up close—so much more obvious now than in passing. the hallway light framed him from behind, softening the edges of his varsity jacket and casting a faint glow around his hair. his arms crossed loosely over his chest, smiling. that easy, boyish smile that always made him look like he was about to laugh at something the world hadn’t said yet.

“why'd it take you so long to open?" he casually remarked, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

you didn’t respond. instead, you stared at him. "does mom know you’re up here?” 

caleb blinked once, before letting out a short chuckle, shifting his weight slightly in the doorway. "yeah, of course she does." 

you exhaled. "anyway,” you stepped back into your room, crossing your arms. "what even brings you here?” 

caleb followed you in without hesitation, not even a pause. his hand went straight to your light switch and flipped it fully on, bathing everything in warm brightness.

you turned your head sharply. “why did you do that?”

“uh, so i can see you.”

“you could’ve seen with the hallway light." 

you stared at him, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. he's already walking further in and glancing around your room. you sat down on the edge of your bed with a controlled sigh. “okay, talk. why are you here?"

caleb held up two fingers immediately, like he’d been rehearsing this. "actually, i'm here for two things.”

you narrowed your eyes. “why are there always ‘two things’ with you.”

“because life is balanced,” 

“that’s not even— never mind. go.”

he leaned back against your desk, shifting comfortably. "firstly, about the sports day fest.”

you blinked. "...that’s it?”

“yup."

you stared at him. "you came upstairs, into my bedroom, during a family gathering, just to ask me about sports day fest?"

“well, you’re on the committee, so why not personally ask you?" he grins. 

you leaned back, processing that for a moment. “okay, then, what about sports day fest?"

caleb immediately straightened, interest sharpening. "okay so,” he moves away from your desk and paced your room, “are we doing the same relay setup as last year?”

“probably revised,” you grabbed your phone from the bed, scrolling through your notes. “the committee’s still finalizing—”

“will we not get those ridiculous team shirts anymore?”

“yea, probably.”

“good,” he said instantly. “last year’s were damn tight.”

you looked up. “they were your size though?"

“way too tight,” he corrected confidently, stopping near your bookshelf and casually picking up one of your notebooks.

your eyes snapped up. “hey, don’t touch that.”

he already opened it. "hmm, why not?”

“because it’s mine.”

“so?”

you stood up again, walking over to him. "don't touch that, i said!"

he didn’t even look guilty. he was flipping through it like it was entertainment. "but this is just your committee notes,” 

“exactly.”

“huh, it’s very organized, i'll give you that,” he whistles. 

you reached for the notebook and took it back. “thank you, now stop touching things that aren’t yours.”

caleb shrugged, unbothered, and wandered toward your window instead. "anyway,” he continued, “are we still doing the obstacle course? because last time someone tripped on the tire thing and it was kind of—”

“caleb,” you cut in and pointed at him. “focus.”

“i am focused.”

“you’re touching my curtains.”

he glanced down, realized his hand was indeed messing with your curtain tie, and let it drop casually. “okay,” he said, stepping back. “i’m focused now.”

you returned to your bed slowly, sitting down again with a tired expression. "sports day is basically the same structure,” you explained more firmly this time. “relay, obstacle course, mixed games, but we’re adjusting the scoring this year though.”

caleb nodded, listening intently. you added, “and no, you can’t ‘fix’ anything last minute like you did last year.”

“that wasn’t fixing though,” he combed his hair back with his fingers. “that was improving morale!"

“by bribing your team with snacks?" you snorted. and he just smiles back, eventually he stopped pacing. which, in your experience, usually meant one of two things: either he was done being chaotic for now, or he had found a new kind of chaos to settle into.

this time, it was the former. he walked over and sat down on the edge of your bed across from you, causing the mattress to dip slightly under his weight. caleb leaned back on his hands, studying you for a moment in a way that made you suddenly aware of your posture, your hair, the fact that you were still wearing your slightly wrinkled shirt from earlier. “huh,” 

you frowned. “what?"

he tilted his head a little. “it’s been a while since i’ve seen you this close.”

you blinked once. "but you saw me earlier at school.”

“yeah,” he said easily. “but not like this.”

you didn’t ask what “like this” meant. you already didn’t like where it sounded like it was going. caleb squinted slightly, like he was comparing something only he could see. "you’ve really gotten shorter, it's like you're growing backwards.”

your face went flat at that. “i have not.”

“you have,” he insisted. “or maybe i got taller. either way, something changed.”

you cleared your throat, trying to avoid the tension in the air. you wonder if he's doing this on purpose, or if he could be a victim to it as well. "so what’s the second thing you're here for?"

caleb straightened himself, resting his elbows on his knees now instead of leaning back. "oh right,"

you waited as he glanced at you, then away, then back again, deciding how casual to make it sound. "well, i’m having a house party next week.”

"of course you are.”

he ignored that. "and a lot of people are coming, literally anyone you could think of, including zayne's clones." 

“also of course.”

caleb watched you for a second, waiting. but you didn’t say anything immediately. it wasn’t surprising, really. not for him. not for caleb. he was the kind of person who collected people without even trying, just by using his charm and looks.

you adjusted your position on the bed, fingers resting on your blanket. "i see," 

caleb’s eyebrows lifted a little at that.

you met his eyes briefly. “i’ll think about it.”there was a pause, as if he was reading your answer and deciding what to do with it.

then caleb smiled, not the usual one, but smaller. he shifted forward and reached out before you could react, pinching your cheek like it was an automatic reflex he didn’t even question. "then... i'll be happy if you come," 

you immediately recoiled. “ah—”

"think about it, okay?"

you rubbed your cheek consciously. “you didn’t have to pinch me.”

“i did,” he stood up now like the conversation was naturally ending. "it was necess-uh-ry, so think about it hard. if you aren't there, i'll burn my house and mom will blame you." 

"is my presence really that important?" you chuckled offhandedly, but the next thing that comes out of caleb's mouth was something you didn't see coming. 

"it is," he glances at you over his shoulder with a cheeky smile. "rest well and drink your meds, pipsqueak." 

and then, just like that, he leaves your room.

—

caleb’s house looked completely different at night, like somebody had taken the familiar shape of it and dipped it into glittering lights and loud music until it became something unreal.

you stood near the front gate for half a second too long, staring at the amount of cars lining up the street. you suddenly understood what caleb meant by “a lot of people.” apparently, “a lot” meant half the school population.

“come on,” one of your classmates laughed beside you, tugging your sleeve. “don’t freeze now—you're the one who dragged us here,"

when you followed them inside, just as instantly, warmth crashed into you. warm lights, warm air, warm noise. and lots of people everywhere! students crowded the living room shoulder-to-shoulder, conversations overlapping into one giant buzzing blur while music echoed through the walls loud enough to rattle your ribs. somebody cheered from somewhere near the kitchen, somebody else was already filming videos with flash on.

you stepped carefully through the chaos, trying not to bump into anyone.

honestly, it was kind of overwhelming. you adjusted the hem of your outfit nervously. you had spent way too long deciding what to wear tonight only to immediately regret every clothing decision the second you walked in. still, your classmates kept talking excitedly around you, so you tried to relax. somewhere in the back of your mind, one thought repeated quietly: where’s caleb?

you hadn’t seen him once since arriving. which, honestly, made sense. this was his environment anyway. of course he was busy.

you glanced around again, seeing unfamiliar faces moving endlessly beneath colored lights. then suddenly—your classmates disappeared on you. one moment they were beside you, the next moment somebody had pulled one of them toward the dance floor while another vanished into the kitchen crowd, and somehow the current of the party separated you from all of them without warning.

you came to a halt. fuck, where are they?

all you could see were moving shoulders, flashing lights, strangers laughing too loudly over music that kept swallowing every thought whole. panic flickered in your chest, enough to make your stomach tighten.

great. now you were alone.

you pulled your phone from your bag, already considering texting caleb, but then immediately paused.

no, he's absolutely unreliable right now. he was probably halfway across the house entertaining fifty different people at once.

you sighed quietly and slipped your phone back away. okay, fine, you could handle this.

you tried moving forward again, weaving carefully through the crowd while searching for somewhere quieter to stand. except every direction somehow looked louder than the last. you attempted squeezing past them, and immediately somebody bumped your shoulder, now another person nearly stepped on your shoe.

the crowd swallowed space way too quickly, pushing and shifting around you like waves. “sorry— excuse me—” your voice disappeared instantly beneath the music. you tried moving faster, and then suddenly—you feel a hand wrap around your wrist. 

you turned, already halfway prepared to elbow some random stranger out of self-defense—only to freeze.

oh, of all people. 

for a second, your brain genuinely forgot how to function properly. because seeing zayne at school and seeing zayne at a house party were apparently two completely different experiences.

first of all—the black shirt. it fit too well, sleeves hugging the shape of his arms in a way that looked unfairly distracting beneath the dim party lights. no rolled-up uniform sleeves tonight nor a neatly buttoned school attire—just dark fabric stretched across broad shoulders that had definitely gotten wider since high school started, whether you noticed gradually or all at once.

he looked taller somehow too... or maybe the crowd just made him stand out more. either way, he looked painfully out of place against the chaos of the party. 

you're only brought back to reality when zayne glanced briefly toward the crowd, letting go of your wrist, the sudden movement startling you out of your daze—he must've been staring at you that long too. his gaze pressed around the two of you before looking back down at you.

then, without saying a word, he motioned lightly with two fingers for you to follow him. and you could only nod.

he stepped ahead first, guiding a path through the crowd while you followed closely behind him. people shifted instinctively when they noticed him approaching, parting easier somehow compared to when you had tried surviving the dance floor alone thirty seconds ago. you noticed the looks too, how most of the girls glanced at him openly. some even whispered things to each other after he passed.

it's annoyingly understandable. especially tonight. especially with that shirt.

you were still internally judging him for the shirt when suddenly, you feel his hand hovering lightly near the small of your back, guiding you in the quietest possible way.

your entire spine immediately became aware of itself, which was ridiculous because technically he wasn’t even touching you. except every now and then, when the crowd tightened too closely, his palm would briefly brush against your back to steer you forward before disappearing again.

you focused very hard on walking normally.

eventually, the music softened as zayne led you toward the corner of the house near the back hallway. the lights here were dimmer and calmer with fewer people crowding the space.

gosh, you could finally breathe again.

you turned toward him at the exact same moment he turned toward you.

“why are you—” “did caleb—” both of you spoke simultaneously, and then meeting at the exact same pause.

a tiny silence settled between you, before you waved awkwardly toward him first. “you go ahead.”

zayne blinked once. and for one brief second, you caught the almost-smile forming in his features. the faintest crack in his usual composed expression, like he was stopping himself from chuckling. unfairly handsome beneath the warm hallway lighting.

“do your parents know you’re here?” he asked.

you stared at him. “…that’s your question?”

“it’s an important question.” you remained silent though, trying to read through zayne's expression. “answer it.”

you crossed your arms. “yes, they know.”

zayne studied your face for half a second longer, like he was checking if you were lying, before nodding once. “i see.”

you narrowed your eyes. “why are you.. acting like my probation officer?"

“because,” he said calmly, “you looked one inconvenience away from getting kidnapped out there.”

you opened your mouth in immediate offense. "i was handling it just fine.”

zayne glanced toward the crowded living room where you had very visibly been fighting for survival thirty seconds ago, then back at you. “…were you?”

you pressed your lips together, which, unfortunately, was basically an admission of defeat. zayne noticed, he had always been annoyingly observant like that. his gaze lingered on your face for a second longer, calm and unreadable, while the music from the other room pulsed faintly through the walls behind him.

you cleared your throat first, mostly because you refused to let him win this interaction. "anyway,” you said quickly, “what brings you here?”

zayne leaned one shoulder against the wall beside you. “caleb invited me.” typical zayne. talking to him sometimes felt like trying to pry information out of a locked vault using emotional guesswork.

with a quiet sigh, you walked toward one of the empty tall chairs near the kitchen island and climbed onto it carefully, resting your elbows against the counter while observing the chaos happening from a safer distance. from here, the party looked less overwhelming. people moved beneath the colored lights like blurry scenes inside a movie montage. 

zayne sat beside you a moment later, close enough that you could feel the quiet warmth of his presence beside your arm.

neither of you spoke for a while. surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. it was rather comfortable in that strange unfamiliar way silence sometimes becomes when shared with the right person. your eyes wandered idly around the kitchen island before stopping on something abandoned near the fruit bowl.

a deck of cards.

“you’re into those?”

you hear zayne ask, in which you nodded to. “yeah, card games are kinda my thing.”

“hm.”

you tilted your head slightly. “what about you?”

zayne shook his head once. “no.”

“then why do you sound interested?"

his expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "i know a few tricks,” 

“…ooh, what kind of tricks?"

zayne didn’t answer verbally. instead, he extended an open palm toward you. for some reason, the gesture alone made your stomach feel weirdly aware of itself.

you stared at his hand for a second, catching sight of the veins that were faintly visible beneath warm skin under the party lights. without speaking, you grabbed the deck and placed it onto his palm.

zayne’s fingers closed around it smoothly. his fingers flicked through the deck with practiced precision, cards cascading neatly between his knuckles in soft clicking sounds that somehow cut through the distant music around you.

you stared. “since when can you do cardistry?”

zayne glanced at you briefly. “i get bored sometimes.” then his attention returned to the cards. his hands moved with quiet confidence, slender fingers guiding the deck through intricate motions like muscle memory lived in every tiny movement. cards flipped over his knuckles smoothly before disappearing into his palm again, edges brushing against each fingertip.

there was something oddly attractive about the way he handled them. you watched one card spin neatly between his fingers before snapping back into the deck again, making your mouth slightly part. “that was kinda cool.”

“kinda?”

“don’t get arrogant.”

the faintest hint of amusement touched his face. zayne tilted the deck once more, cards fanning cleanly between his fingers like unfolding silk. you suddenly became hyperaware of everything at once. the low music, the warmth of the lights, the elegant movement of his hands.

without looking away from the cards, he asked calmly, “impressed?”

you ignore him, too focused on what he was doing with his hands.

zayne glanced back down at the cards in his hands, calm and composed as ever, before performing another trick—as if elegance simply happened around him without effort. the deck split cleanly between his fingers. one card disappeared, then reappeared tucked neatly between two knuckles of his other hand before flipping itself back into place.

you blinked. "woah, that's shit.”

“language,” zayne finally set the cards down onto the kitchen island, before looking at you properly. from this angle, the neon lights shifted faintly across his face in blue and pink streaks, and his glasses caught the colored light every now and then, reflecting small flashes whenever he tilted his head.

you stared back before you could stop yourself, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. "so do you know more party tricks?”

zayne leaned back against the counter. "a few.”

“seriously?”

“there’s one involving drinks.”

you perked up. “show me.”

"...i haven’t actually tried it.”

your eyebrows lifted. “then how do you know about it?”

“i’ve seen it.”

you frowned instantly. that answer alone felt wrong coming from him. "wait,” you said slowly, “so you regularly go to parties?”

zayne looked almost offended by the accusation. “rarely.”

“but you do.”

he sighed quietly through his nose. “caleb bribes me.”

you nodded, “...that actually makes complete sense.”

“thank you.”

you laughed softly under your breath despite yourself, before leaning forward again. “okay, so what’s the drink trick?”

zayne’s expression changed enough for you to notice. his fingers adjusted his glasses lightly against the bridge of his nose before he glanced away for a split second. “it’s not really appropriate.” he looked visibly reluctant now, which only made this infinitely more interesting. because zayne never got visibly reluctant.

you leaned closer across the counter, curiosity fully awake. "what kind of trick is it?”

“one your mother would disapprove of.”

“that makes me want to know more!"

“that is exactly the problem.”

you grinned, pressing further. "come on, tell me," zayne held your stare, silent and resisting. which only made you more determined. “you can’t just say mysterious things and not explain them.”

“i absolutely can.”

“you coward.”

one of his eyebrows lifted slightly, then sighed once, slow and controlled, like he had finally accepted defeat. except instead of answering—he leans forward, far too close.

one second zayne was sitting beside you normally—and the next he was hovering near enough that your entire brain short-circuited on instinct. his arm braced lightly beside you against the counter with his face inches away. close enough for you to notice the faint scent of clean cologne beneath the warmth of the room. close enough to see the tiny reflection of neon lights in his glasses. close enough that your heart immediately launched itself into full panic for absolutely no reason.

you jolted backward so fast you nearly lost balance off the chair.

zayne paused at that, blinking as he calmly reached past you to grab the beer bottle and empty glass sitting behind your shoulder.

silence. the realization alone nearly killed you.

“…relax,” he said finally, leaning back. “you shouldn’t be that easily rattled, especially if you’re going to keep provoking me.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. "i was not provoking you.”

“you called me a coward.”

“because, you were acting mysterious.”

“and now?” he poured himself a drink while speaking, amber liquid glinting beneath the lights. “now i think you enjoy making me uncomfortable.”

you scoffed. “please, you don’t get uncomfortable.”

zayne only hummed quietly like he disagreed. you stayed suspiciously silent after that, watching him instead. which turned out to be a mistake. because observing zayne too carefully was becoming increasingly dangerous tonight.

he stretched one arm toward the nearby side dishes, long fingers reaching effortlessly for a slice of lemon resting beside the drinks. the movement pulled faint tension across the sleeves of his black shirt, subtle muscle shifting beneath dark fabric before he settled back beside you again. then he held the lemon slice between two fingers and said, very calmly, “open your mouth.”

“…what.”

“hm.” zayne tilted his head. “coward.”

your jaw dropped, "you cannot keep using that against me.”

“seems effective.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, but he only waited patiently. his composure somehow made refusing feel embarrassingly childish now.

you huffed quietly through your nose before finally leaning forward slightly and parting your lips just enough. immediately, warmth crept into your face the second zayne slid the lemon slice, carefully, between your lips.

his fingers brushed against the corner of your mouth for only a second, but your entire nervous system noticed. his gaze lingered there briefly before he looked away first, then he glanced around thoughtfully.

you frowned around the lemon. what is he looking for? 

“one second.” he stood from the chair and walked toward the kitchen drawers nearby, leaving you sitting there in complete confusion holding a lemon slice in your mouth like somebody’s deeply humiliated house cat.

you watched him pull open one drawer, then another. until finally, he grabbed a small glass jar of... salt? unscrewing the lid, he dipped two fingers lightly into the salt. and only then did realization begin crawling horrifyingly into your brain.

he returned to stand between your knees before you could escape properly. he's way too close like this.

"you said you wanted to know the trick,” and before you could argue again, his fingers brushed lightly against your collarbone—cool grains of salt scattered softly over warm skin.

you sucked in a tiny breath when his hand settled against your hip, steady enough to keep you still. and then he leaned down, licking the salt from your clavicle—his warm tongue grazed along the surface of your skin, for a second longer than necessary, he sucked on it. 

your breath caught instantly, a tiny sound escaping you before you could stop it, soft and startled and humiliatingly real.

zayne paused for the briefest second afterward. then slowly—far too slowly—he lifted his head again, his face close enough that the lemon scent mixed faintly with the warmth of his breath. without meeting your eyes, he leaned forward once more and carefully took the lemon slice from between your lips using his own.

zayne still refused to look directly at you. instead, he reached for the glass calmly, closed his eyes once, and drank the alcohol in one smooth swallow.

the music still played somewhere behind you, and people still laughed. but everything around you felt strangely muffled, as if your brain had wrapped itself in cotton after what just happened. your collarbone still tingled faintly, the memory of his saliva and tongue against the skin ghosting over it.

did that seriously just happen? you couldn't even focus on your own internal monologue, as you noticed the way zayne's brows pinched together ever so slightly as he swallowed hard after the drink, setting the glass down against the counter with a quiet clink. then he coughed once into his fist.

the image of calm, composed, terrifyingly smooth zayne abruptly cracking because of alcohol was so unexpected that your brain physically stalled trying to process it. “hey, are you okay?”

zayne straightened almost instantly. "i’m fine." except his voice sounded rougher now, the faintest flush spreading beneath the sharp line of his cheekbones.

you stared harder. “...are you used to drinking?”

there was a tiny pause, before zayne adjusted his glasses and answered with complete honesty, “this is my first time.”

what? 

he looked away briefly, clearing his throat once more. “i said i’d only seen the trick before.”

your eyes widened, "zayne!” he winced faintly at the volume of your voice. “you made it sound like you knew what you were doing!”

“i did know what i was doing.”

you stared at him in disbelief, a course of guilt rushing down your face. now that you were really looking at him, he genuinely seemed affected. not drunk exactly, but definitely warmer around the edges than before. his composure still sat perfectly in place, yet there was something subtly looser about him now.

"sorry,” you started quietly. “i didn’t know you’d never—”

“zayne!” both of you looked up at the interruption.

a guy from the caleb's team was waving from the other side of the kitchen, already halfway approaching through the crowd. “there you are,” he said breathlessly. “caleb’s looking for you.”

zayne blinked at him, composure slipping neatly back into place. “why?"

“something about the speakers. nobody else understands the setup except you.”

of course. even at parties, zayne somehow got assigned technical support duties against his will. he sighed through his nose before standing properly from the chair. for one second, his gaze flickered back toward you. and suddenly the air felt warm again. "don’t disappear,” and, before you could answer—he was already gone back into the crowd.

—

ever since then, for reasons you were oblivious to, both zayne and caleb started treating you like someone they actually knew—which was strange considering you had technically grown up together your entire lives. but before, there had always been distance, you know, the careful kind. now, somehow, they stayed.

you, meanwhile, remained catastrophically unaware. because in your mind, this was normal. right? they were childhood friends. technically. and childhood friends probably acted like this all the time.

unfortunately for you, everybody else at school possessed functioning pattern recognition, which became increasingly obvious.

but they had always bickered, hadn’t they? except now the arguments felt oddly targeted. caleb would interrupt conversations just to steal your attention away from zayne, and then zayne would correct caleb’s exaggerated stories while looking directly at you instead of him.

during the friday gatherings, caleb suddenly insisted you sit beside him during karaoke nights while zayne quietly occupied the chair on your other side before anybody else could. they acted normal individually. but together? strangely competitive. but somehow, you never really fully noticed.

until... the campus practically vibrated with excitement that morning.

music blasted through giant speakers across the field while students flooded the grounds wearing brightly colored team shirts beneath the hot sunlight. you could hear the whistles echoing from afar and how somebody was already yelling into a megaphone because everybody isn't exactly organized.

you, unfortunately, were suffering. committee duties meant running around with clipboards while surviving on pure stress and iced coffee.

“where’s the relay list?”

“who moved the cones?”

directly in the center of it is caleb and zayne being on opposite teams. the universe found it hilarious, because the second the games started, things became unbearably obvious.

caleb played like a man personally offended by the thought of defeat itself, incredibly fast and competitive. he truly is all effortless athleticism beneath the glaring afternoon sun, his jersey clinging slightly from sweat while crowds screamed his name every five seconds.

on the other hand, zayne is somehow equally terrifying. it made no sense because zayne wasn’t even the sporty one. yet there he was, calm and calculating beneath the heat, playing with the same frightening precision he approached everything else in life.

they kept watching each other, constantly, like two academically gifted wolves. every single time one of them scored, their eyes immediately searched for you afterward. you noticed that part eventually, mostly because it kept happening.

still, you remained mostly confused rather than enlightened, then came the foul that happened during one of the final basketball rounds, fast enough that everybody gasped at once.

caleb deliberately blocked zayne harder than necessary near the court line, the collision sharp enough for sneakers to screech loudly against polished flooring.

whistles exploded instantly. “foul!”

“watch it!” the committee members beside you stood up immediately, except neither caleb nor zayne looked at the referees.

they looked at you. both of them. like somehow your reaction mattered more than the actual game. you stood there clutching your clipboard in complete disbelief. "...what are they doing,” 

one of your friends beside you snorted loudly. "fighting over you, obviously.”

you turned so fast you nearly dropped the clipboard. "no they aren't?”

he stares at you for a long moment. “you... actually don’t know?"

after that, it became impossible to unsee. impossible for literally everyone else. once somebody pointed it out, the pattern started unfolding everywhere. in your defense, both boys behaved in ways that were just plausible enough to deny. maybe— maybe —you were simply unlucky enough to exist directly between both personalities at once.

—

summer is nearby.

the afternoons stretched longer, with the concrete outside shimmering faintly beneath the heat. even the trees beyond your backyard fence looked sleepy, their leaves barely moving whenever wind passed through.

your laundry basket sat beside you, half-empty now, while damp clothes hung heavily across the clothesline one by one. sunlight warmed the back of your neck as you clipped another shirt into place, fingers smelling faintly of detergent and fabric softener. somewhere nearby, a radio played old music from another house. you liked days like this, days where nobody expected anything from you except folded laundry and watered plants. except lately, your brain had refused to stay quiet.

you clipped another shirt onto the line harder than necessary. 

the two guys weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. and almost everybody seemed to notice it now. even your own mother noticed, judging by the increasingly suspicious smiles she’d been giving you lately whenever either boy visited.

honestly, it stressed you out. because the problem was you didn't dislike them. rather, you cared about both of them too much to treat any of this lightly. which was exactly why you refused to bring it up first.

because if there truly was something there—something real—then it should come from them. right? and selfishly, you didn’t want the burden of dragging confessions out into daylight only to ruin whatever fragile thing currently existed between all three of you.

you sighed and reached for another damp shirt. inside the house, your mother suddenly called your name.

“coming!” you shouted back.

the screen door slid open as your parents peeked outside together, your mother already holding her purse while your father jingled car keys impatiently beside her. “we’re leaving for the whole day, okay?” your mother called out. “there’s food in the fridge!”

you nodded. “okay!”

“don’t forget your laundry outside later!”

“i know!”

a few moments later, you watched their car disappear slowly down the street while cicadas buzzed lazily in the afternoon heat.

silence settled over the house afterward. so you returned to your laundry basket with another sigh. and, unfortunately, immediately started thinking again. about caleb’s lingering touches, about zayne’s stares, about the sports day, about that stupid lemon trick.

your face warmed at the memory. “this is so annoying,” and as if summoned directly from your thoughts—

the doorbell rang.

you froze, frowning suspiciously at the gate. you're pretty sure your parents didn't inform you earlier of anyone visiting at this hour...

you wiped your damp hands hurriedly against the sides of your shorts before making your way through the house and toward the front door. the second you opened it, you regretted everything instantly.

because standing outside your gate were caleb and zayne, together.

huh, talk about a coincidence.

your eyes flicked towards the two plastic bags filled with fruits hanging from caleb's arm while zayne carried another smaller bag beside him. sunlight poured over both of them harshly enough that you had to squint. “heya, pips," caleb greeted first, smiling easily the second he saw you.

zayne gave a small nod beside him. “good afternoon.” you stared blankly for approximately three whole seconds before your brain suddenly remembered your current appearance.

oh, this was horrible.

you were wearing an old white tank top slightly wrinkled from heat, loose boy shorts, and your hair was tied messily on top of your head in the kind of rushed bun that made you resemble an exhausted suburban mother halfway through a sunday cleaning routine!

your entire body now became aware of itself, and judging by the brief silence afterward—they probably noticed too.

zayne adjusted his glasses lightly, gaze flickering away for one suspicious second before returning to your face with entirely too much composure. "we brought fruits,” 

caleb lifted the bags. “our parents bought too much again.”

“and your mom mentioned nobody would be home,” zayne added.

your eyebrows lifted slowly. “…my mom told you that?”

“she saw us outside earlier,” caleb answered. “then she basically assigned us delivery duty.”

that sounded unfortunately believable. you glanced down at yourself again instinctively. big mistake. because when you looked back up, caleb was very visibly trying not to grin.

“what?”

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling.”

“because you look—” zayne elbowed him before he could finish, causing a cough out of caleb to correct himself instantly. “—busy,” 

you stepped outside instead, the concrete warm beneath your slippers as you approached the gate. the metal latch clicked when you opened it halfway, enough for you to reach over and take the plastic bags from their hands. the fruits inside shifted heavily against your arms.

“thanks,” you said, avoiding eye-contact for a second because you were still painfully aware of your appearance.

caleb leaned against the fence immediately after handing the bags over, sunlight catching against his hair in uneven gold streaks. “that’s it?”

you blinked. “what do you mean, that’s it?"

“aren’t you gonna let us in?”

you stared at him. “why would i let you in?"

“because we carried fruits all the way here under the tragic heat of the sun,” he pressed a hand against his chest. “we’re basically your heroes.”

“you live just three houses away.”

before caleb could continue arguing, zayne’s gaze shifted past you toward the backyard. more specifically, toward the laundry lines swaying gently beneath the summer wind. he noticed the basket first, then the enormous remaining pile of unfolded clothes still waiting beside the basin.

“so you’re doing laundry,” he observed.

you looked over your shoulder, “obviously.”

there was a small pause before zayne adjusted his glasses and said, in the calmest voice possible, “we can help you.”

you turned back around so quickly you nearly dropped the fruit bags. “…what? no—"

“yeah,” caleb chimed in, straightening from the fence with alarming enthusiasm. “we have nothing else to do anyway."

“you do not need to help me with laundry.”

“why not?”

“because it’s laundry.”

caleb frowned. that wasn’t a valid argument at all. zayne remained standing quietly beside him, somehow already looking committed to the task. you opened your mouth to refuse again, but when you glanced back toward the backyard, toward the mountain of clothes still waiting, your shoulders visibly deflated.

caleb noticed. “see? she needs us.”

“don’t sound so happy about it.”

still, you found yourselves walking through the side path toward the backyard together while sunlight filtered warmly through the trees overhead. you set the fruit bags down onto the small outdoor table near the clothesline, pushing loose strands of hair away from your face as the boys surveyed the situation.

“this is a ridiculous amount of laundry,” caleb commented.

“we’re entering summer,” you replied. “the bedsheets multiply during summer somehow.”

“scientifically impossible,” zayne murmured.

“tell that to my mother." 

caleb carries the heavier basin closer to the line while zayne organized the clothespins into neat little rows because apparently even laundry required structure in his mind. you couldn’t help glancing at them every now and then in faint disbelief. it felt strange, domestic in the oddest way. it's the kind of scene that would’ve looked completely normal if you were all ten years old again.

except now, both boys were taller than the clothesline poles and looked unfairly attractive beneath the afternoon sun.

“zayne!” water splashed suddenly across caleb’s side.

zayne paused, one sleeve still damp from where he’d accidentally flicked water while wringing a shirt. “that was unintentional,”

caleb looks down at himself. “…bro.” before you could even react properly, he lets out a troubled snicker and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion—only to show underneath was only a fitted white sleeveless undershirt clinging against his frame from the heat.

now you understand why almost the entire female population of your school acted clinically insane around him.

you turned your face away. far too late, unfortunately, as caleb definitely noticed your reaction. his grin widened. “why are you looking away?”

“i’m not.”

“mhm.”

you focused aggressively on clipping towels onto the line. surprisingly enough, the boys weren’t fighting today.

zayne just sighed quietly and rolled his sleeves upward toward his elbows before eventually pushing them all the way near his shoulders. the motion revealed clean forearms lined faintly with veins beneath warm skin. he reached for another shirt. “if you keep teasing her, she’ll stop letting us help.”

caleb laughed. “she likes us helping.”

“i never said that.” you cut in.

“well, you didn’t have to.”

you ignored the dog's remark and crouched over the basin with a tired sigh. things always had a different plan for you, though.

one second you were lifting it carefully from the ground, and the next, cold water came crashing against your front with a sharp splash that made you gasp aloud. the weight of it soaked through your tank top instantly, thin white fabric clinging embarrassingly fast against your skin.

“shit—” you completely froze as you felt it—the damp cling of fabric, the cool air against exposed skin underneath, and the way your brassiere is now far more visible than it had any right to be.

slowly, you looked up, only to find both boys staring. caleb had gone unusually quiet. his easy smile disappeared somewhere between surprise and something else entirely, his gaze lingering for half a second too long before darting upward again. beside him, zayne looked equally caught off guard, though his reaction was quieter. his hand still held a clothespin loosely between slender fingers, unmoving, while his eyes flickered downward once before carefully returning to your face.

neither of them spoke. and the silence made heat rush violently into your cheeks.

you crossed your arms over yourself instinctively, suddenly aware of every inch of your body beneath the sunlight. the backyard no longer felt breezy or playful or safe. it felt small. “i’ll just go get another shirt,” you muttered quickly, already turning toward the house before your embarrassment could fully consume you.

except zayne spoke first. “i’ll come help you.”

your steps halted, turning to him. “help me… change?” the second the words left your mouth, caleb choked on air beside him.

zayne blinked once, gathering his words much more carefully. “that’s obviously not what i meant.”

before you could answer, caleb suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the shirt he’d tossed aside earlier. his white undershirt stretched faintly against his chest as he walked to you. “or,” he holds the shirt out toward you, “you can just wear mine.”

you stared at him, then unfortunately at his big arms for one treacherous second before forcing your eyes upward again. “caleb—”

“it’s clean,” he added quickly. “well, mostly.”

zayne’s gaze shifted toward the shirt in caleb’s hand, expression unreadable. then, without a word, he began unbuttoning his own overshirt.

your eyes widened. “…what are you doing?"

“offering a better option.”

caleb let out a laugh of disbelief. “you’re kidding.”

“hers is soaked,” zayne rolls his sleeves downward again before shrugging the dark overshirt from his shoulders. “mine actually covers properly.”

the air changed after that, just enough for you to feel it settle heavily between them. both boys met each other's eyes, and suddenly you felt less like a person and more like the center of a very polite war.

caleb returned his gaze towards you, shirt still held loosely in one hand while the other rested against his hip. “take mine, it’ll be more comfortable.”

before you could even process that, zayne moved too, closer to your other side. “mine is larger, you’ll feel less exposed.”

your heartbeat stumbled stupidly, because now they were both standing close enough for you to feel heat radiating from either side of you. close enough that their voices dropped lower naturally beneath the summer stillness. somewhere above, the laundry fluttered softly in the wind while water continued dripping from the hem of your soaked shirt onto the concrete below.

you looked between them helplessly. it's really ridiculous how both of them were standing in your backyard wearing sleeveless undershirts, how your soaked tank top clung colder against your skin as you glanced between the two shirts again.

if you were choosing purely based on practicality... zayne’s was the obvious answer. it was larger, plus it wasn't damp. trying very hard not to think about the implications of literally wearing one of their clothes, you slowly reached toward zayne’s offered shirt.

*buzzzzz!*

all three of you paused.

zayne reaches into his pocket, already looking mildly irritated by the interruption. he checked the screen.

caleb leaned slightly. “who is it?”

“my tutor.”

you and caleb both stared at him. “…right now?” 

“tutor advance classes,” zayne answered flatly, “i forgot.” he really had always been terrifyingly academic. the type to voluntarily attend extra classes during the last few months of school while the rest of humanity tried surviving the heat without collapsing. still, there was the faintest tension in his expression. one of reluctant annoyance, subtle enough.

“is it important?” you asked.

zayne looked at the screen for another second too long before finally answering, “yes.” he didn’t sound too happy about it.

caleb whistles, "that's brutal."

for one tiny moment, zayne’s eyes flickered back toward you, toward the hand that had almost reached for his shirt earlier. something unreadable crossed his face. quiet satisfaction, maybe. or maybe you imagined it.

without another word, he slowly slid his overshirt back on, rolling his shoulders once as the fabric settled neatly against him again. somehow, watching him button it back into place felt oddly intimate too. “you should change before you catch a cold,” he said.

“in this scorching heat?”

“still possible.”

typical zayne answer.

he adjusted his glasses before turning toward the side gate, but not before giving caleb one brief glance, meaningful enough that you instantly became suspicious. “i’ll see you later.”

just like that, the genius left.

you watched him disappear past the front yard while warm wind stirred softly through the hanging laundry around you.

slowly... very slowly... you turned back toward caleb—who was already looking at you. who looked amused, deeply amused. you narrowed your eyes. “aren't you going to follow after zayne and have the courtesy to leave as well?"

caleb leaned casually against the outdoor table, arms crossing over his chest, the shirt that he had offered earlier dangling from one of his hands. “have you always been this feisty since you were a kid, pips?”

“only towards you.”

his grin widened. "you really were gonna pick his shirt, huh."

“because it was bigger!” you faced your back towards him, hanging the last batch of clothes.

“mhm.”

“and it covered more.”

“sure.”

you stared at him in offense while he laughed softly under his breath. the worst part was how unfairly pretty he looked doing it. summer sunlight caught against the loose strands of hair falling over his forehead while his shoulders shook lightly with amusement. and then, his gaze drifted downward for a split second toward your still-soaked shirt before immediately lifting back to your face. the shift was quick, respectful even, but you still caught it.

by the time the last batch of laundry was finally finished, the afternoon sun had softened into something warmer and slower. the backyard smelled faintly of detergent and sun-dried fabric now. bedsheets swayed overhead in lazy motions while the remaining drops of water glimmered along the concrete beneath the clotheslines. 

you bent down with a small sigh, reaching for the empty basins stacked beside the faucet. your shoulders ached slightly from standing too long. “finally,” you muttered. “i’m never washing clothes again...” you glanced back to find caleb watching you from beside the outdoor table, amusement tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth. his hair had dried messily beneath the heat.

you looked away immediately. before you could properly walk past him, caleb stepped into your path.

you look up at him with a curious gaze. “move.”

“no.”

“caleb.”

“you’re still so soaked.”

you frowned down at the wet shirt sticking annoyingly to your frame. “i’ll just change inside.”

“let me do it for you.”

“no need, cay.” before you could sidestep him, caleb leaned closer, close enough to make your pulse trip over itself.

instinctively, you stepped backward, and he kept on trapping you until your back bumped lightly against the screendoor, the sound making both of you pause.

“sit down for a second.” he said. despite yourself, though, you glanced toward the small wooden chair nearby. caleb's grin softened into something quieter. “c’mon.”

you huffed softly through your nose before finally setting the basin aside and dropping onto the chair with reluctant defeat. “such a bossy old man,” 

“you love it.” caleb laughed under his breath before crouching slightly in front of you. then his fingers caught the hem of your soaked tank top.

you freeze at the gesture, eyes widening at him.

“can i?” the question should’ve embarrassed you more than it did. maybe it was because this was caleb, or maybe it was because the summer heat had melted your common sense hours ago.

either way, after a second, you gave the smallest nod. almost awkwardly now, he guided the damp fabric upward while keeping his eyes shut tight like it physically pained him to peek. you helped tug the wet shirt free before quickly pulling his shirt over yourself afterward.

the fabric smelled like him. it made you warm.

“okay,” you mumbled weakly. “you can look now.”

caleb opened his eyes slowly, smiling. he crouched lower until he was nearly eye-level with you, one knee pressed against the concrete while he wrung your soaked shirt carefully between both hands. water dripped steadily onto the ground beneath him.

out of the blue, caleb laughs under his breath, though it didn’t sound entirely happy. “you know,” he started, twisting the fabric tighter, “i don’t really like how you are around zayne.” caleb kept his eyes lowered toward the shirt in his hands. there was still a smile on his face, but it looked strange now, thinner around the edges.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

he shrugged one shoulder. “i don't know, you listen to him more.”

“no, i don't.”

“yes, you do.” his voice stayed light, casual almost, but something underneath it tugged too tightly. “when he tells you to sit still, you sit still. when he says something, you get all quiet and nice. you even looked so ready to wear his shirt earlier without arguing.”

he glanced up finally, brown eyes warmer than the afternoon sunlight spilling across the backyard. “but with me…” he smiled faintly. “you’re really mean.” the smile on his face remained there stubbornly, but now it looked almost brittle. like he was trying very hard to keep things playful even while something heavier sat underneath every word.

the distant hum of cicadas still filled the spaces between words. for a while, caleb only stared at the fabric, listening to it. and then he laughed softly to himself. “you know what’s crazy? that party i threw a few weeks ago?”

your stomach immediately tightened. “...what about it?"

his fingers stilled against the shirt. “did you really think i didn’t see?”

“see what?"

caleb stared at you for a long second, the smile disappearing from his face entirely. and suddenly—suddenly he didn’t look playful anymore. he looked serious in a way that made your heartbeat stumble. “zayne,” he said quietly. “with you.”

your breath caught.

caleb leaned back against his heels. “i saw him take you away from the crowd, and i saw him touch you. you think i didn’t know what he was doing?” his jaw tightened faintly before he continued. “i went looking for you because you disappeared. then i found the two of you in the kitchen.” his gaze dropped briefly toward your neck. “and i saw him licking you off,” 

the bluntness of it made heat rush violently into your face. caleb looks away, running a hand through his hair roughly before laughing again under his breath. “god, i was so pissed.” you stared at him, because you couldn't say anything. anything at all. what else is there to say? deny what he saw? you knew it was true. tell him it was an accident? both of you and zayne were fully sober. he looked hurt, really hurt. “i wanted to punch him.”

your eyes slightly widened at that.

“i’m serious,” he said, looking back at you. “but i couldn’t even bring it up because what was i supposed to say, huh? ‘hey, i saw the girl i like with my best friend and it made me feel insane’?” he exhaled sharply through his nose before leaning closer, close enough that your breath caught on instinct.

“do you know how hard it was pretending i didn’t care after that?” his eyebrows deeply furrowed, purple eyes holding yours. “watching you act normal around him after he did something like that to you?” his voice lowered further. “and the worst part is…” his fingers loosened from your shirt completely, dropping the damp fabric beside the chair before his left hand settled against your waist instead. “would it be unfair if i wanted the same thing?”

your breath hitched when his grip tightened ever so slightly before he leaned in further, head tilting slowly toward the side of your neck. you could now feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, but apart from that, you also felt the hesitation. unlike zayne, caleb was expressive and emotional. you could practically hear the conflict happening inside him.

wanting. waiting. holding himself back.

his lips ghosted just barely against your skin, and your fingers instinctively caught against the edge of the chair beneath you. and then suddenly—caleb forms a crooked smile, and pulled away.

you blinked at him in stunned silence while he leaned back again, laughing quietly under his breath like he was mocking himself. “see? i can’t do it.” he murmured. “because i’m not like zayne.” his hands slid slowly from your waist, trailing down your arms with unbearable gentleness before settling briefly against your knee. “he’s calm when he wants something, he thinks first, plans first.”

his thumb brushed lightly against your skin, drawing lazy circles across the surface. “but me? i just feel everything." you didn’t know what expression you were making. maybe none at all. maybe that was the problem.

while caleb sat crouched in front of you with his hands still lingering against your knee, your face remained unreadable beneath the soft sunset light. your heartbeat was loud enough to make your chest ache, but outwardly, you only stared back at him. somehow, your silence seemed to unravel him more than rejection would have.

you could practically see the conflict worsening behind his eyes, messy and emotional and far too honest to hide. caleb had always been terrible at concealing feelings. even as a child, everything he felt used to spill out immediately through expressions, through gestures, through the way he hovered too close.

“say something,” he murmured.

you swallowed softly but didn’t answer fast enough, before caleb’s hand tightened around your knee. “because i don’t get it.” his other hand rose until it settled against your shoulder, fingers curling there with growing tension. “you let zayne do things i can’t even imagine doing to you, but then you look at me like i’m just…” he shakes his head. “i don’t know. easier?”

you frowned. “that’s not true.”

“then look at me.” his grip tightened slightly. “look at me when i’m talking to you.”

you finally lifted your eyes fully toward him, and immediately wished you didn't. he looked vulnerable in the ugliest, rawest way possible. like jealousy had been eating at him quietly for weeks and he’d finally lost the ability to keep swallowing it down.

“i’m different from him, you know that, right?” his thumb pressed lightly against your shoulder as if trying to anchor you there with him. “zayne acts like he’s in control all the time. but me? i’ve been trying so hard not to lose my mind over you lately."

“caleb, you're..."

“i’m serious.” he leaned closer again, eyes searching yours desperately. “if you’d just give me something— anything —i swear i’d—”

his hand around your knee tightened again unconsciously, but pain bloomed sharply this time. “caleb, that hurts.”

and then, everything stopped. his expression changed so fast it almost startled you. the frustration disappeared first, followed by the desperation. then whatever reckless emotion had been pushing him forward moments ago.

caleb looked down at his own hand gripping your knee like he genuinely didn’t recognize it. like he didn’t recognize himself. and suddenly he let go so quickly it was almost panicked.

“shit.”

he pulled back, both hands dropping away from you entirely as though burned. horror crossed his face in slow motion while he stared at the faint pressure marks already beginning to form against your skin.

“shit,” he repeated quieter this time. “i didn’t mean to—” he stopped speaking halfway through.

because what explanation was there? what excuse could possibly make that better?

you rubbed your knee instinctively while he stared at the motion with visible guilt twisting across his features.

“christ,” the words sounded directed entirely at himself, as he stood up, fast enough that the wooden chair creaked faintly beneath the movement. caleb drags a hand down his face before stepping away from you altogether, embarrassment and self-disgust radiating off him so clearly it made your chest ache.

“i’m sorry,” he bent down immediately afterward and grabbed the abandoned basins near the faucet, almost too quickly, like he needed something physical to focus on. “i got carried away,” he muttered while stacking them together. “that was shitty.”

you opened your mouth slightly, but no words came out. seeing caleb like this felt strangely awful. he’d gone from intense and overwhelming to withdrawn within seconds, every bit of earlier confidence collapsing inward now that he realized he’d frightened you.

he kept his back turned afterward while carrying the basins toward the side of the house. and for the first time since this strange complicated thing between the three of you began—caleb looked genuinely ashamed of wanting you so much.

—

the basins were stacked back into their corners, and the faucet had stopped dripping. the laundry danced beneath the evening breeze while the last traces of sunlight melted into warmer shades of orange across the neighborhood rooftops.

you stood quietly near the gate, fingers curled loosely around the metal bars as you watched caleb leave. he walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched beneath the fading sunlight as he made his way back toward his own street a few houses away. from behind, he looked strangely boyish again despite everything that had happened earlier. not the school’s golden athlete, not the loud charming boy everybody loved, but just caleb. your childhood neighbor.

you looked down afterward. the faint marks around your knee had already begun fading beneath your skin, barely visible now unless you focused on them carefully. you knew what happened earlier should’ve unsettled you more. it should’ve frightened you—the way caleb lost control for a second there.

but strangely enough, fear never came, for all you could remember was the expression on his face afterward. 

everything between the three of you had become so complicated lately. and somehow, you felt guilty too. guilty because part of you understood why caleb was unraveling. guilty because you kept letting both of them stay close while pretending not to notice the obvious. guilty because maybe you did treat zayne differently.

you groaned under your breath. “this is so messy.”

that evening, normalcy returned little by little. your parents came home carrying grocery bags and stories from wherever they’d spent the day while the house filled with the comforting smells of dinner cooking in the kitchen. you helped prepare the table while your mother talked endlessly about traffic and your father complained about the heat.

it felt ordinary and safe again.

the soft yellow lamp near your bedroom desk cast warm light across the walls while the curtains fluttered gently from the open window. outside, summer night hummed through the neighborhood—distant barking dogs, cicadas hidden somewhere in trees, and the faint sound of somebody’s television drifting from another house.

you exhaled the second your bedroom door shut behind you. your body practically melted with exhaustion as you walked toward your bed, already reaching for your phone when suddenly—

*buzzzzz!*

your brows furrowed, glancing down at the screen.

you genuinely wondered if you were hallucinating, because zayne rarely called people, he barely even texted first unless it was academic or medically necessary. and more importantly—he had never called you before.

your thumb hovered uncertainly over the screen before curiosity won. you answered the call and lifted the phone toward your ear while sitting down onto your bed. “hello?”

for a moment, only soft static answered. then, zayne’s voice came through the line, low and slightly hoarse. “did i wake you?”

you immediately sat straighter for absolutely no reason. “no, what’s up?”

there was a brief pause on the other end before he spoke again. “i think i left my watch there.”

“…your watch?”

“i took it off while helping earlier.”

your eyes drifted toward the window, as if the watch might magically appear outside in the dark backyard. it was probably still near the laundry area—except the thought of going downstairs again felt genuinely devastating. you groaned softly and fell backward against your pillows. “can i just give it back tomorrow morning?”

another quiet pause. then, “that’s fine.” you could practically picture him nodding to himself on the other side of the call. “thanks,” he added afterward.

your fingers reached automatically toward the small nailcare basket sitting near your bedside table. absentmindedly, you pulled it onto your lap and started sorting through tiny bottles and nail files while balancing the phone against your shoulder. “sure, no probs,”

the silence afterward should’ve ended the conversation. normally, zayne would’ve hung up already. that was how he worked, oh so efficient and straightforward. except when you thought he already ended the call, you noticed his caller id still ongoing after several seconds passed.

you frowned. “…anything else?”

a soft sound came from the other end. a hum, maybe. “what are you doing?” your hand paused midair over the nail polish remover. for a second, you genuinely thought you misheard him. because this was not a zayne question, at all.

this was the kind of question normal teenage boys asked when they wanted conversations to keep going. meanwhile, zayne is a teenager, but he usually spoke like every sentence had been academically pre-approved beforehand.

“…i’m cleaning my nails,” you answered slowly.

another hum. you could also hear faint rustling on his side of the line too, like sheets shifting softly. and the image of zayne lying on his bed with his glasses slightly crooked nearly distracted you.

what a dangerous thought. you focused aggressively on your cuticles, before his voice came again.

“did you eat already?”

your fingers stopped moving, staring blankly at your nail file. “uh, yeah, during dinner.”

“good.” 

silence settled again afterward, but strangely enough, it didn’t feel awkward. through the phone, you could hear the faint sound of his breathing every now and then. it was strangely calming beneath the soft nighttime sounds drifting through your bedroom window.

“you sound tired,” you murmured.

“i am.”

“how were your classes?”

zayne sighed on the other end, and the sound traveled straight through your chest for some unfair reason. “long.”

you smiled faintly to yourself while pushing back your cuticles. “that sounded miserable.”

“indeed it was.”

“poor zayne.”

“don’t mock me.”

“i’m being supportive.” you laughed quietly before catching yourself. unbeknownst to you, miles away in the quiet dimness of his own bedroom, zayne had stopped doing work a long time ago.

his textbooks remained abandoned near the edge of his desk, untouched for the past twenty minutes while warm lamplight spilled across scattered papers and half-written notes. instead, he sat leaning back against the headboard of his bed in an oversized white shirt and dark sleeping pants, one knee drawn upward beneath the blankets.

his phone rested against his ear. and despite himself—he hadn’t hung up yet. the pen between his fingers rolled habitually over his knuckles while he listened to the soft sounds on your side of the line. your quiet breathing, and the occasional rustling whenever you shifted against your bedsheets.

zayne liked you most in moments like this, in unguarded moments. “i should apologize.” zayne broke the silence.

your hand paused over your nails. “hm? for what?”

“the party,” he answered. “for how i acted.”

ah. the lemon trick. why would he apologize for that now? 

your face warmed, “oh."

“i crossed a line.” despite the memory, his voice remained calm, but there was still something restrained underneath it. “if you felt uncomfortable, i can keep my distance from now on.”

your brows furrowed immediately. “what? no." the answer came out far too fast, and you realized it a second later. so did he.

still, you hurried onward before your embarrassment could consume you. “i mean—it’s fine. i was the one provoking you anyway." 

“…so you weren’t uncomfortable?”

you sat up straighter against your pillows. “that’s not— i mean—” a nervous laugh escaped you instantly, trying to dissolve the weight of your own words. “you’re making it sound weird.”

“am i?” through the phone, you heard the faint sound of his pen stopping completely. somehow, that tiny detail made your heartbeat worsen. 

the next words that come out of zayne's mouth were so out of place that it almost had you considering the end call button. 

“you should be more careful around caleb.”

“what?”

zayne’s tone remained even. “caleb isn’t who you think he is.”

"what does that even mean?”

another brief silence followed, like he was debating whether to continue. “you think he’s harmless because he acts open about everything, but he’s not.”

your confusion only deepened. “zayne, you’re being really vague.”

“he hides things better than people realize.”

“like what?”

the pen clicked once between his fingers. “he keeps photos of you.”

that made you still. "sorry?"

“i've seen them in his room.” your brain stalled completely, and all you could recognize is the familiar gush of mixed emotions piercing through your stomach. “photos from school events, family gatherings, random pictures from his phone.” zayne paused briefly. “...sometimes printed.”

“that’s not…” you tried to find the right words, as if you're looking for a scapegoat to make sense of caleb. because right now, to you, he didn't seem like the boy you knew all along. “that’s not weird, isn't it. we’ve known each other forever.”

zayne hummed, not agreeing, and yet not disagreeing either. “he looks at you differently when nobody notices, but you don’t see it because caleb acts the way he is all the time.”

your fingers curled tighter around the nail file in your lap. for some reason, the image of caleb earlier that afternoon flashed into your head immediately. his hands gripping your waist, the jealousy in his voice, the look on his face after hurting you.

outside your window, summer wind began to stir harshly through the trees. you watch a few of the resting birds fly away.

“you’re not slow, y/n,” zayne spoke once more over the phone. “i know you notice things quickly.” you sat frozen against your pillows, fingers still loosely holding your nail file. “so don’t let caleb fool you, whatever he says about me.”

wait.

your brows slowly met. “what do you mean whatever he says about you?”

zayne ignored the question entirely. “i don’t like how you are around him.”

there it is. the exact same words that was spoken under the summer heat and the swaying clotheslines were now spoken again into the tranquility of the summer's night. 

“with caleb, you’re different.” your grip tightened unconsciously around the phone. “you laugh louder around him, and you say whatever comes into your head. because you're more comfortable around him. but with me,” the silence afterward lasted too long. “with me, you act too polite. you're careful around me, like i’m not someone you grew up with.”

caleb had said the same thing earlier, almost exactly the same thing. you stared blankly at the wall across your bedroom while your thoughts slowly started connecting themselves together in horrifying little pieces. caleb saying he didn’t like the way you acted around zayne. zayne now saying he didn’t like the way you acted around caleb. both of them sounding bitter in nearly identical ways.

zayne had forgotten his watch, which meant he probably came back. your mind replayed the afternoon immediately. because if zayne returned for his watch—then how much did he hear? did he hear caleb talking about the party? about jealousy? about wanting you? did he hear everything?

the silence on the call stretched longer and longer while realization settled heavily into your chest like stones sinking underwater. the worst part wasn’t the possibility that zayne overheard. the worst part was realizing he sounded jealous enough to care.

you pressed your free hand against your forehead slowly. this was getting out of control.

everything between the three of you had started tangling together so tightly that you couldn’t even breathe around it anymore. you suddenly missed when they were just boys playing puzzle games at family gatherings, before stares started lasting too long.

“zayne,” you finally said something, closing your eyes. your thoughts were too loud, your chest felt too crowded. and for the first time in a long while, you genuinely didn’t know what to say anymore. so instead, you laughed weakly beneath your breath and murmured the only honest thing left in your head.

“you two are seriously exhausting.” you ended the call.

—

ever since that night, you started keeping your distance, but not in a way that anyone can outright accuse you of avoiding them.

you just stopped lingering after conversations, replied later than usual in group chats. and during friday gatherings, you stayed closer to your parents or the younger children instead of wandering naturally toward wherever caleb and zayne happened to be. at school, you busied yourself with committee work or classmates before either of them could pull you aside into another strange emotionally loaded interaction.

it felt safer that way. 

lately, everything around the three of you had begun feeling too intense for no reason at all. honestly, part of you still refused to believe it was really about you. you kept telling yourself there had to be another explanation.

maybe caleb and zayne were simply competitive by nature, or maybe years of growing up side by side had turned everything between them into some unconscious rivalry that eventually extended toward you too. after all, the three of you weren’t even inseparable childhood best friends. you didn’t grow up attached at the hip. they were always closer to each other than they ever were to you.

so maybe you were overthinking this entire thing. their jealousy wasn’t really jealousy, you just happened to be standing in the middle of whatever strange tension existed between them. that explanation felt easier to carry, so you chose it. and gradually, over the next few weeks, the distance became noticeable.

caleb still waved at you across campus sometimes, but less brightly now. his texts became more occasional, more restrained, almost like he was forcing himself not to reach for you too often. while zayne returned to acting composed and unreadable, though every now and then, you’d still catch his eyes lingering toward you during class assemblies or committee meetings before calmly looking away again.

by the time june started creeping closer, summer heat had fully settled over the campus grounds. electric fans spun uselessly against the humid cafeteria air while students crowded noisily around tables with melting iced drinks. 

you sat near the corner windows during lunch, quietly scrolling through your calendar app while picking lazily at your food. 

committee deadlines, sports fest inventory, mother’s grocery reminder, finals exam week...

you were halfway through reorganizing your weekend errands when suddenly somebody dropped into the seat across from you. “hey.”

you looked up from your phone.

an acquaintance from the sports committee leaned toward you with wide eyes already full of gossip.

“…hello, yes?" you said cautiously.

“have you heard?”

your brows furrowed. “heard what?”

she lowers her voice despite the cafeteria already being loud enough to drown entire conversations. “the sports committee funds went missing.”

your eyes widened at the news. “what?”

“that's what everyone’s talking about right now.”

you straightened in your seat so fast your spoon nearly clattered against the tray. “wait, seriously?”

she nodded quickly. “apparently a huge portion of the budget’s gone.”

that's really bad, especially with sports fest preparations still ongoing. “no way, how does money just disappear?”

your acquaintance shrugged helplessly before leaning even closer. “the last person who handled it was the committee auditor.”

“mace?”

“yeah. but she’s saying somebody must’ve stolen it.”

your mind immediately started spinning. the sports committee funds weren’t small amounts. there were receipts, records, signatures involved. things like this became messy incredibly fast. “is the faculty involved already?” you asked.

“probably soon.” she grimaced. “people are already accusing each other.”

you stared down at your untouched lunch. somehow, deep in your chest—you felt a strange sinking feeling already beginning to form.

the entire walk back to your classroom felt strange afterward.

students were already whispering about the missing funds in clusters along the hallway, their voices blending together. every now and then, you caught fragments of conversation drifting past.

“—heard it was stolen—”

“—someone from the committee—”

by the time you reached your classroom, your mood had already soured completely. you slid into your seat near the windows with a quiet sigh before pulling out your notebook and reviewer for the next subject.

this didn’t involve you anyway.

or at least, that’s what you thought.

you had barely opened your notes when suddenly, the classroom door opened. 

your brows furrowed as one of the sports committee members hurried inside, breathing hard like he’d sprinted across campus. you recognized him instantly—mace’s close friend and the current treasurer assistant. his face looked tense in a way that made your stomach twist.

before you could even greet him, he made a direct beeline toward your seat. “do you have the committee funds?”

your confusion deepened. “what?”

“the missing funds,” he said quickly. “are they with you?”

you blinked at him in disbelief. “no, it's not with me...”

his jaw tightened. “are you sure?”

your expression hardened a little at that. “obviously i’m sure.” around you, classmates had already started subtly turning in their seats. the atmosphere inside the room shifted almost instantly, curiosity spreading faster than fire.

the guy rubbed a hand over his face before lowering his voice slightly. “you were one of the last people who handled the money.”

you frowned. “because i was helping audit it.”

“exactly.”

“that doesn’t mean i took it.” he looked unconvinced. suddenly, irritation started crawling up your spine. 

sure, a few days ago, you had helped organize records with mace after committee hours, but that wasn’t unusual. multiple officers handled budgeting paperwork all the time during sports fest season. “you're reaching,” you said calmly, keeping your voice level despite the growing attention around you. “a lot of people had access to the funds.”

“but you were there during the last audit.”

“and so were you.”

that made him pause, then his eyes dropped toward your bag beside the chair. “…can i check your bag?”

the classroom went completely silent.

you stared at him. “you're joking.”

“i just need to make sure.” his expression remained stubborn and tense, almost desperate beneath the pressure of the missing money situation. “if you didn’t take it, then there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

whispers immediately started bubbling around the room. you could feel everyone staring now.

jesus.

your face burned slightly beneath the attention, but more than embarrassment, you felt offended. angry.

still, you knew refusing would only make things worse. so after a long second, you exhaled sharply through your nose and shoved your bag toward him. “fine, go ahead.”

your classmates then leaned forward openly.

the guy crouched beside your desk and started searching through your bag while you sat there stiffly, arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

this entire thing felt really insulting. 

you watch his movements stop, before slowly pulling out a thick white envelope from the bottom of your bag.

your brows furrowed immediately. wait, what?

the guy stared at it for one second before quickly opening the flap. “i knew it.” within a second, gasps erupted around the classroom, but you could only feel your heart dropping straight into your stomach.

“no way, y/n—”

“that’s the envelope—”

you stared at the money inside like your brain physically could not process what it was seeing. because that envelope—that envelope should not have been there.

“what the hell?” you muttered under your breath.

the guy stood up abruptly, clutching the envelope tightly in one hand while looking at you with outright disbelief. “you're a liar and a thief, huh.”

you abruptly shot to your feet. “i am not!”

“this is literally the missing funds!”

“that's not mine!” the whispers around the room exploded louder now. some classmates were openly staring while others were already pulling out phones. your pulse thundered violently in your ears, but even through the panic rising inside you, one thought stayed terrifyingly clear—you know someone put that there. 

someone must've framed you.

you looked directly at him, jaw tightening. “i don’t know how that got into my bag.”

“seriously?” he snapped. “you expect people to believe that?”

“yes,” you shot back. “because i didn’t steal anything.”

his expression only hardened further. “then explain why it was inside your bag.”

“i can’t explain something i didn’t do!” your voice rose louder this time, frustration finally cracking through your composure while the entire classroom watched like spectators at a live show. “this is insane, somebody obviously planted that there.”

but nobody looked convinced. not him. not your classmates. not anyone. oh how terrifyingly easy it was for people to turn against someone once suspicion had already settled in the room.

it didn’t matter how firmly you defended yourself. eventually, the gossip spread anyway.

by the end of the afternoon, it already felt like the entire campus knew your name for all the wrong reasons. whispers followed you through hallways and conversations suddenly stopped when you passed by. even people you barely talked to were staring at you now with that same awful mixture of curiosity and judgment.

it hurt more than you expected it to, because you knew you were innocent.

you walked toward the faculty building with your jaw clenched tightly enough to ache, forcing yourself to keep your posture straight despite the heaviness building in your chest. students lingering outside the offices glanced at you openly as you passed, and you hated how conscious it made you feel. 

inside the faculty room, the air-conditioning felt unbearably cold against your skin. your adviser sat across from you with a troubled expression while the sports committee moderator stood nearby flipping through paperwork and transaction records. the missing envelope rested on the desk between all of you like physical evidence in some crime investigation.

you stared at it with growing frustration. “sir, i promise, i didn’t steal steal anything,”

your adviser sighed. “we understand you’re upset, but you have to understand why this looks serious.”

“because someone put it in my bag.”

the moderator looked up. “do you have any idea who would do that?”

“...n-no,” you answered. “but, sir, why would i even steal committee funds in the first place?”nobody answered that. and somehow, that silence hurt.

they didn’t fully believe you either.

you rubbed your hands together beneath the table, trying to steady yourself while the moderator continued asking questions. where was your bag during lunch? who had access to it? why didn’t you notice the envelope sooner? were you struggling financially? did you owe anyone money?

each question felt more humiliating than the last, but you answered everything anyway. calmly at first, then desperately. little by little, you started realizing how terrifying this situation actually was.

this wasn’t just rumors anymore. of course this was a disciplinary issue. a record.

your throat tightened painfully. “please,” your voice cracking despite your efforts to keep composed. “i’m telling the truth.” your adviser’s expression softened a little at that. unfortunately, that kindness nearly made you cry harder. you weren’t someone who got into trouble.

you followed rules. you worked hard. you stayed responsible. and now suddenly you were sitting here defending yourself against something you didn’t even do while half the school probably already thought you were guilty.

your vision blurred, and you looked down immediately, embarrassed at yourself for tearing up in front of faculty members.

god this was awful.

“i would never do something like this,” you whispered, helplessly.

the room fell quiet for a moment. 

but the faculty room door opening hard enough to make everyone look up broke the silence. 

you wiped quickly at your eyes as someone stepped inside.

he looked like he’d come straight from running across campus. his usually neat hair had fallen slightly out of place while his tie hung loosened beneath his collar. in one hand, he carried his laptop bag and several printed papers.

your adviser blinked in surprise. “zayne?”

he barely acknowledged the room before looking directly at the moderator. “she didn’t steal the funds.” the certainty in his voice made you stare at him.

the moderator frowned. “and how exactly do you know that?”

without another word, zayne crossed the room and placed several printed screenshots onto the desk. “because the envelope was planted in her bag during lunch period.”

the moderator immediately picked up the papers while your adviser leaned closer in confusion. from where you sat, you recognized blurry still images from security camera footage near the cafeteria hallway.

zayne continued speaking calmly. “there's a security camera outside the student council corridor,” he explained. “most people forget it exists because it only records the lockers and hallway benches.”

your brows slowly knitted together.

“during lunch,” he continued, “her bag was left unattended for several minutes while she bought food.” he tapped one of the screenshots. and there-there was mace’s friend. the same guy who accused you earlier, caught crouching near your bag.

“what…” you whispered.

the moderator’s expression darkened while flipping through the timestamps. another screenshot showed him slipping something white into the slightly opened zipper compartment before walking away casually.

“he planted it himself,” zayne finished.

nobody spoke for several seconds.

your adviser looked completely stunned now while the moderator’s face hardened with growing anger. meanwhile you sat frozen in your chair, staring at the evidence.

zayne found proof. he actually found proof.

“how did you even get this?” your adviser asked.

zayne adjusted his glasses lightly, though you noticed how slightly out of breath he still seemed. “i checked the hallway footage after hearing what happened,” he answered simply. “the timestamps matched the period before the accusation.”

simple. it's as if he hadn’t just saved you from a disciplinary record. 

the moderator stood up afterward, already calling for another faculty member while muttering angrily under his breath about suspension and investigations.

everything around you suddenly became blurry noise, because relief hit all at once. violent relief. your hands started trembling slightly in your lap while you stared down at the papers on the desk.

so you weren’t crazy, you weren’t guilty.

your eyes lifted toward zayne again. and he was already looking at you, quietly concerned in that restrained way of his.

for a long moment, you couldn’t say anything at all.

the faculty room buzzed faintly around you with movement and conversation—the moderator speaking urgently to another teacher, papers being gathered, chairs shifting against the floor—but all of it blurred somewhere far into the background.

because your eyes remained fixed on zayne. and his stayed fixed on you. a quiet eye contact stretched impossibly long beneath fluorescent lights and cold air-conditioning. it felt more intimate than every charged conversation you’d ever had with him before.

you looked at him like you were trying to say thank you without words. and zayne looked back like he understood every single thing you couldn’t bring yourself to say aloud.

his emerald eyes stayed steady against yours, meaningless and unreadable to most people. but after growing up beside him for years, you had slowly learned how to recognize the subtleties hiding underneath his composure. the way he watched you carefully, like he was quietly checking whether you were still holding yourself together.

it made your chest ache. but as always, you looked away first.

a little while later, after the faculty settled things enough for you to finally leave, you stepped out into the hallway alongside zayne. late afternoon sunlight poured through the corridor windows, warming the polished floors gold.

you walked side by side in silence.

the thoughts within your head still felt tangled from everything that happened earlier. from embarrassment, and relief, and anger to exhaustion. they all sat too heavily inside your chest to untangle properly.

“are you okay?” zayne's voice came out softer than usual. you nodded automatically, even though you knew you weren’t okay yet. your throat still hurt from trying not to cry earlier. your hands still trembled slightly from adrenaline. and beneath all of that, there was still the lingering ache of realizing how quickly people turned against you.

you swallowed and kept your eyes ahead. for some reason, speaking suddenly felt impossible.

zayne noticed. but unlike most people, he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he didn’t push you to explain yourself or force comfort onto you just because the quiet felt heavy. instead, he simply slowed his pace to match yours better, and stayed there beside you.

the warmth of the afternoon sun filtered through the windows in soft stripes across the hallway, catching faintly against the edges of his dark hair and glasses. beside you, his hand shifted slightly at his side.

before it lifted.

for one brief second, it looked like zayne was going to touch you. his fingers hovered uncertainly near your shoulder, hesitant in a way that felt strangely unlike him. 

but it paused midair, before slowly curling back toward himself instead.

the smallest flicker of restraint crossed his face before he adjusted his glasses, putting that careful composure back into place. “i should go,” he said. “i still have errands to finish.”

you looked at him finally.

up close like this, he looked tired. probably from running around campus gathering evidence for you all afternoon instead of resting or studying like he normally would. your chest tightened again. “…okay,” 

zayne gave a small nod, stepping back slightly. “i'll see you later,” 

you nodded once more and watched him walk away down the hallway.

—

you went home with an empty head and a heavy chest.

the entire walk back through the neighborhood felt muted somehow, you only listened to the way the world had lowered its volume without telling you. you also watched the children still playing outside, somebody’s dog barking lazily down the street. life continued normally around you despite how strange the day had become.

you hated that.

you hated how quickly people looked at you differently over one accusation. even now, your stomach still twisted remembering it.a part of you wanted desperately to fix everything—to stand in the middle of campus tomorrow and scream the truth until everyone finally believed you. but another part of you knew it wouldn’t matter. once rumors spread, they stayed.

you learned that today.

so instead, you kept your expression blank and quietly entered your house like nothing happened at all.

your parents greeted you from the kitchen while evening news murmured from the television nearby. you answered absentmindedly, slipped out of your shoes, washed your hands, and wandered toward the counter where a bowl of apples sat waiting.

normal things. you needed normal things.

the knife moved carefully beneath your fingers as you peeled an apple in long curling strips, trying very hard not to think about school.

...or zayne.

except unfortunately, your thoughts circled back to him anyway, to the way he walked into the faculty room without hesitation and to the way he looked at you afterward. your chest tightened at the memory. he really went through all that effort for you; the same boy who acted quite distant for years despite growing up beside you. before you could overthink it further, you suddenly set the knife down onto the counter.

your mother looked up. “where are you going?”

“outside for a bit,” 

“outside where—”

but you were already halfway out the front door.

warm evening air hit your face immediately as you hurried down the street, sandals slapping lightly against pavement while your heartbeat thudded strangely hard inside your chest. you weren’t even entirely sure why you were rushing this much.

you just—you needed to thank him properly.

the neighborhood blurred around you as you walked faster through familiar streets lined with glowing porch lights and flowering plants. eventually, the familiar houses came into view.

caleb’s house first, then zayne’s right beside it.

you slowed near the gates. for some reason, your eyes drifted briefly toward caleb’s house. the lights inside were dimmer than usual tonight.

strange. you hadn’t really seen him around since the accusation incident started earlier. but before your thoughts could linger there too long, you shook your head lightly. that wasn’t important right now.

you walked toward zayne’s front porch and pressed the doorbell.

your pulse suddenly felt ridiculous. why were you nervous?

after a few moments, footsteps approached from inside the house before the door finally opened.

zayne looked exactly the same as earlier. same loosened tie and same slightly tired eyes behind his glasses.

had he only just gotten home too?

you noticed the genuine surprise crossing his face upon seeing you standing there. you immediately felt awkward. “uh, hi.”

zayne blinked once, before stepping aside. “come in.”

once you reluctantly entered, he shut the door gently behind you and turned back toward you again. “what’s wrong?” there it was again. that immediate concern. his first instinct was always checking whether you were okay.

“i didn't get to thank you properly earlier,”

and before you knew it, words started spilling out of you all at once.

“sorry, i just— i really wanted to thank you properly because what you did earlier was really...,” your hands twisted together nervously. “you saved me in there and i don’t even understand how you managed to gather all that evidence so fast, and if you didn’t show up i genuinely don’t know what would’ve happened to me because they were already looking at me like i was guilty and—”

you barely even paused to breathe.

“and i know you probably think it’s not a big deal, but it is to me because nobody else believed me and somehow you just... you just immediately knew i didn’t do it. so thank you. seriously. i don’t think you understand how much that meant to me.”

finally, your rambling slowed—mostly because zayne was faintly smiling at you and the sight completely stole the rest of your words.

you had seen zayne smile before, technically. small amused smirks and quiet little reactions hidden behind sarcasm. but this was different. soft and tender, almost. the kind of smile that made him look suddenly less untouchable somewhat. 

“hush,” zayne stepped a little closer then, gaze gentler than you’d ever seen it before. “it’s okay,” the single word settled over you so gently it nearly melted every remaining ounce of tension still trapped inside your chest. “you don’t have to thank me that much,” he murmured. “i was going to help you either way.”

his words came to you like a pencil attempting to sketch the smile lines across your features, and you smiled the kind of smile that came naturally after somebody caught you before you shattered. it was small, tired around the edges after the terrible day you’d had, but genuine enough that it softened your whole face beneath the room's light.

and, for all that you are, zayne's expression changed so subtly most people would have missed it. but you didn’t, not anymore. 

the faint curve of his lips slowly disappeared as he looked at you, almost like the sight stunned him more than he expected. his emerald eyes lingered on your smile for a second too long, darkening with something quieter than surprise and far more dangerous.

affection, raw and unguarded.

it hit him hard enough that he actually had to look away. you watched his throat move in a slow gulp before his gaze drifted briefly toward the floor, one hand tightening faintly at his side like he was collecting himself.

zayne never lost composure. and yet here he was, undone by nothing more than your smile.

“thank you,” you said again softly, almost laughing beneath your breath now. “seriously.”

zayne exhaled through his nose before looking back at you. “it’s to make up for what i did.”

“what did you do?”

he gives you an uncertain stare. “the call.” your heartbeat slowed strangely, as you remembered how the late-night conversation went, and the memory settled heavily into the room between you. zayne’s gaze flickered briefly over your face before dropping somewhere near your shoulder. “i pressured you that night.”

you opened your mouth. “zayne, i—” but the words never fully came out.

suddenly, his hands found your waist, warm and firm.

your breath caught at the sudden gesture, as zayne stepped forward until the space between your bodies disappeared entirely, his arms wrapping around you with a restraint that somehow made the intimacy worse. like he was holding himself back even now, like this was already more than he’d allowed himself to take.

you froze, you didn’t know what to do with how badly your body reacted to it. he was so tall that your chin tipped upward instinctively, your fingers barely brushing his chest as he leaned down and buried his face against the curve of your neck. warm breath spread against your skin through the collar of your shirt, and the sensation made heat rush violently into your face.

his grip around your waist tightened almost imperceptibly, a telltale sign that he needed the contact more than he wanted to admit. “i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmured near your ear. his voice sounded rougher from this close, much deeper.

it slid through you slowly, dangerously.

your fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt. “y-you didn’t,” 

zayne inhaled at that, the sound brushed warm against your throat. “with you, i don’t really know how to act anymore.” you feel his forehead rested lightly near your shoulder now while his arms remained secure around your waist, and for one dizzy second, you let yourself melt into it, into the warmth of his body, into the quiet intimacy of being held so carefully by someone who spent years pretending not to want you this much.

your eyes slowly fluttered shut. everything felt so soft and close... and dangerously tender...

until the front door opened.

“zayne, where’s—” 

your eyes snapped open instantly. 

and the sight of caleb, who stood by the doorway, hit you all at once.

caleb was there, there behind the man who's hugging you into an embrace. his uniform was half undone, white shirt wrinkled and untucked with dirt streaked faintly across the fabric, and bruises darkened visibly along his arm, his cheekbone, the corner of his lip.

he looked exhausted. beautifully, painfully exhausted. somebody who had finally reached his limit. but none of that compared to the expression on his face when he saw the two of you.

his hand remained wrapped tightly around the doorknob while his tired, lilac eyes locked onto zayne’s arms around your waist.

then... slowly—to you.

you watched caleb’s jaw tighten faintly beneath the bruising near his mouth as his heavy breathing slowed. his eyes dragged downward briefly to where zayne was still touching you before lifting back to your face again. and god, that look nearly hurt to survive through. caleb looked like he had walked into the exact thing he feared most.

his fingers tightened harder around the doorknob until the muscles in his forearm flexed visibly beneath bruised skin.

and when he finally spoke, his voice came low and rough around the edges. “…didn’t know you had company.”

immediately, you stepped away from zayne. the warmth of his arms disappeared from your waist too quickly, leaving behind a strange lingering heat against your skin as you stared at caleb standing by the doorway.

up close, he looked worse than you initially thought.

the bruises weren’t small. one darkened the edge of his cheekbone while another bloomed faintly beneath the collar of his wrinkled uniform. his knuckles looked scraped raw, reddened skin stretched tight over bruised fingers that was surely caused by hitting something far too many times. even his lip had split slightly near the corner, dried blood staining against pale chapped skin. despite how rough he looked, caleb still looked devastatingly beautiful in that messy, ruined sort of way.

zayne’s brows furrowed beside you too, his expression sharpening the longer he examined caleb’s condition.

“what happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. worry flooded through your voice instantly as you walked toward him, brows pulled together while your eyes searched over every bruise scattered across his body. “caleb, did you get into a fight?”

he didn’t answer. he just stood there staring at you. his tired eyes dragged slowly across your face, memorizing something before losing it completely. the muscles in his jaw flexed beneath the fading blood near his lip. 

“caleb?” 

his throat bobbed once. before suddenly, his gaze dropped downward and the faintest broken sound escaped him.

almost a whine.

completely unlike the confident golden boy everyone else knew.

you blinked in surprise, waiting for him to finally explain himself. but instead, caleb lifted his eyes back toward you and asked quietly, “when are you gonna understand?”

you stilled. “…what?”

“when are you gonna understand,” he repeated, “that i like you so fucking much it actually hurts?”

the room went completely silent behind you.

caleb laughed softly then, but the sound carried no humor at all. only exhaustion. only frustration stretched too thin after holding itself together for too long. “i beat him up. that asshole who framed you.” his jaw tightened sharply as he spoke. “he made you cry, humiliated you in front of everyone when you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you could only stare at him, because you couldn't bring yourself to believe it. caleb was capable of something like this? caleb was capable of harming someone just for your sake? 

“and i couldn’t stand it,” he admitted, biting his lip. “i couldn’t stand hearing people talk about you like that.” you watch caleb look away briefly, running a bruised hand through his messy hair before sarcastically smiling again. “i was looking for you afterward, wanted to make sure you were okay.” his eyes flickered toward zayne, and the softness disappeared instantly. 

“and then i walk in here and see this.”

the jealousy in his voice sliced through the room, but it was the kind that came from heartbreak instead of anger. 

caleb’s gaze returns to you, it looked even worse. you could practically see the years of suppression slowly rotting underneath all his teasing smiles and playful touches, how exhausted he must’ve been carrying all of this alone.

his lips parted slightly before he spoke again, quieter this time. “i don’t know what else i’m supposed to do anymore.”

he stepped closer. just one step.

“i always look for you everywhere. and i get jealous over stupid things. and i literally beat somebody up because they made you cry.” his eyes searched yours desperately. “and you're still looking at me like you don’t get it?”

his gaze flickered briefly toward your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again.

“do i seriously have to kiss you before you understand how much i love you?”

no. no, you already understood. that was the worst part.

you stood between them, too warm beneath the dim yellow lights of zayne’s living room, too aware of every breath being taken around you. caleb’s confession still echoed inside your head in painful waves, mixing together with the memory of zayne’s arms around your waist just moments ago.

everything made sense. every argument that carried hidden bitterness underneath it. every strange moment where the air between the three of you became too intimate for childhood friendship alone.

they loved you. both of them.

and you no longer can run away from it.

your lips pressed together, gaze dropped toward the floor. you couldn’t look directly at caleb right now. not when his eyes were fixed on you like that—dark and exhausted in a way that felt unbearable to witness.

you couldn’t turn around either. because behind you stood zayne, silent.

you didn’t know what expression he wore now. you didn’t know if he looked angry or hurt or completely unreadable the way he usually did when emotions threatened to spill too close to the surface.

you were too afraid to find out, too afraid to face either of them fully. all you knew was this awful aching certainty sitting inside your chest: you couldn’t choose. you didn’t want to.

“i...” you started weakly, but the words dissolved before forming properly.

everything felt... tangled. so you stepped backward instinctively, because you always believed that distance might somehow save you from the intensity pressing in from both sides.

but caleb moved first.

the front door clicked shut behind him with a sound that made your pulse jump. then suddenly he was close again, towering over you with tired eyes and a face that looked heartbreakingly ruined from wanting too much.

his hands came up, one against your cheek, the other cradling your jaw. warm palms against burning skin.

from this proximity, you could see the tiny split near his lower lip more clearly now. dried blood swelling near his cheekbone. he looked really messy in a way caleb never usually allowed himself to be.

he whispers into your lips, “i’m sorry.” and before you could even process the apology—

he kissed you.

it was almost devastating how unsteady it felt.

caleb crashed into your mouth like a man depraved of everything he was supposed to have.

”mmph!“ your eyes widened instantly as his lips pressed against yours with all the desperation he’d been holding back for years, roughened breaths shaking faintly between every second of contact. trembling, your fingers clutched at the front of his dirt-stained uniform, wrinkling the fabric tighter beneath your hands as your body struggled to catch up with what was happening.

he kissed you with his eyes shut tightly, brows pulled together like he physically could not bear the thought of you pulling away from him now. every ounce of restraint he usually carried so casually had disappeared, leaving behind something painfully naked underneath.

pure, humiliating desire.

you feel his hand tremble against your face as he deepened the kiss for one brief reckless second, breathing you in desperately like he was trying to memorize the feeling before it disappeared from him forever. and god—you could feel every ugly, yearning emotion tangled inside him.

somewhere behind you, the room remained silent. way too silent.

the realization sent another rush of heat through your body so intense it almost hurt.

caleb must’ve thought about that too. because his grip tightened slightly against your jaw, and a broken sound escaped him into the kiss itself—half sigh, half ache—as though even this moment didn’t feel enough. 

“ungh...” he knew this was selfish, but he couldn’t stop anyway. or maybe he just simply refused to.

you couldn’t tell anymore.

all you knew was that your thoughts were dissolving frighteningly fast beneath the weight of his mouth against yours. his kiss carried none of the polished confidence people usually associated with him. it was too desperate for that. 

and now that it was out, he was drowning in it.“mmgh- shit..” caleb whined against your lips, making your knees weaken embarrassingly beneath him.

the warmth of his body crowded closer while his hand stayed firm against your jaw, thumb brushing shakily along your cheek. your fingers remained tangled tightly in the front of his ruined uniform, wrinkling the already dirt-stained fabric further.

without realizing it, you kept stepping backward underneath the pressure of him. but caleb followed instantly every single time, taller and broader in a way that slowly consumed your sense of balance altogether. the room blurred behind your closed eyelids while his mouth moved against yours with aching urgency, it almost felt like there was nothing else left except him.

...almost.

you thought, as your back hit something solid, warm.

your breath caught sharply into the kiss itself.

caleb paused for the briefest second, enough for confusion to flicker weakly through your haze, but before you could fully pull away or understand what was happening, another hand rose slowly against the side of your neck from behind you.

long fingers, cooler skin.

they brushed your hair carefully over one shoulder, gathering the loose strands away from your nape with a touch so calm it contrasted painfully against caleb’s desperate grip on your face.

your pulse stumbled violently, because you knew those hands. 

your eyes remained shut instinctively, overwhelmed too quickly by warmth and the terrifying awareness of both of them surrounding you now. 

you should’ve stepped away. you should’ve stopped this immediately. but instead, your body betrayed you by leaning further back into the warmth behind you.

a soft inhale brushed the back of your neck. then, another pair of lips touched your skin.

”haa-”

zayne moved differently. his mouth barely grazed the sensitive curve of your nape at first, almost like he was testing your reaction before letting the warmth of his lips linger there properly. the restraint in it somehow made it worse. 

a helpless sound escaped you—“hmngh-”—a small whimper swallowed directly into caleb’s mouth.

caleb’s reaction to it was immediate, his entire body tensed against yours before a shaky breath left him, almost pained, almost wrecked by the sound you made for them. behind you, zayne stayed terrifyingly calm—the way his teeth sunk into the supple flesh of the slope of your neck had you unconsciously pressing yourself against him. 

zayne noticed. and it made him halt in his tracks. for a moment, his hands stilled on you and pulled away slightly, eyeing you from behind. "y/n,"

the mention of your name also had you woken up from the daze you were starting to get lost into, while caleb's eyes flickered towards his bestfriend who's behind you, slowly pulling away. 

"y/n,"

the air between the three of you was strangely suffocating, charged with something that made the fine hairs on your arms stand on end. you felt a sudden, pulsing warmth beginning to bloom deep in your core, a heavy, liquid sensation that seemed to radiate outward from... there. 

what was happening to you? 

zayne's eyes narrowed, his gaze dropping from your face to the subtle, frantic rise and fall of your chest. he could see the way your pupils had dilated, swallowing the dark iris until your eyes looked like bottomless pools of desire. 

“you're flushed.” zayne murmured, he didn't pull his hand away from your arm; instead, his thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles against your pulse point. caleb noticed it too, his gaze following zayne's. the raw, jagged pain in his expression smoothed out into something much more... predatory. 

“you're... burning up,” he didn't care about the fight or the blood on his lip anymore; all he could see was the way your lips were slightly parted, glistening and inviting.

the tension snapped like a taut wire. zayne’s fingers tightened around your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor you as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "it's not just the fever of the moment, is it?" he whispered, and the implication hung in the air, as he let his gaze wander down the curve of your neck. 

you can't help it. the heat was becoming too much to bear. ”no,” you gasped, the word feeling small and fragile against the overwhelming intensity of their gazes. 

you forced yourself to step back, stumbling away from the magnetic pull of their bodies. you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. “this is... it's wrong. we can't. you're best friends, and this... this isn't right,” your voice trembled with a desperate attempt at denial. 

you tried to wrap your arms around yourself, to shield the growing warmth in your core, but the logic felt flimsy in comparison to what was actually going on. 

zayne and caleb both froze, the sudden distance between you feeling like a physical wound. they watched you with a look of profound, aching reverence. to them, you weren't just a girl; you were something sacred, a masterpiece of soft curves and delicate skin that they had spent years worshiping from afar. 

the thought of bruising your skin or marring your perfection with their need sent a shiver of hesitation through them. they wanted to devour you, to just lose themselves in the heat of your body, but also, they were terrified that their very touch might ruin the precious thing they loved so much.

“is it wrong?” caleb whispered, his voice a ragged, broken thing. he took a tentative step toward you, his hands hovering in the air as if he were afraid to reach out and break a spell. “because it feels like the only thing that's ever been right.” 

he reached out, not to grab you, but to let the very tips of his fingers graze the underside of your jaw, a touch so light it was almost a ghost of a sensation. it made your breath hitch in a way that betrayed your protest.

zayne, seeing caleb's approach, felt a surge of competitive desperation. he didn't want to be the one who stayed in the shadows. so he moved to your side, yet there was still a visible tremor in his hands. he reached for your waist, his palms barely skimming the fabric of your clothes, tracing the curve of your hip with a reverence that felt like a prayer. 

“if it's wrong, then let us be wrong together,” he murmured, his voice a low, seductive velvet. he leaned in, his lips not quite touching your skin, but the warmth of his breath against your neck was enough to make your toes curl in your shoes. 

ugh, he's doing it again...

this is ridiculous. you tried to hold onto your denial, to tell them to stop and tell them that this was madness, but your body was a traitor. 

every time caleb's lips teased your earlobe, a fresh wave of liquid heat flooded your thighs. and every time zayne's fingers traced the dip of your waist, an involuntary moan escaped your lips. you were being pulled apart by two different kinds of worship, one frantic and one deliberate, and the more you tried to resist, the more your body craved the very thing you claimed was wrong.

they were both so careful, so agonizingly hesitant, as if they were handling the finest porcelain. they watched your reactions with wide, hungry eyes, terrified of overstepping but unable to pull away—like caught in a loop of wanting to ruin you and wanting to preserve you.

but as you felt the weight of their worship, something shifted inside you. the vulnerability that had been making you tremble somewhat changed into a sharp, jagged spark of defiance. 

maybe it's the insistent teasing, maybe it's something else entirely. you didn't know. 

“stop,” you raise your hands. 

you just found yourself stopping and instead forcing them to look you in the eye. “if... if you insist on going this far,” you tried, even though you knew deep down how much they affected you. “can you even handle what comes with it?” the question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. you saw the flicker of confusion in caleb’s eyes, the way his brow furrowed as he tried to parse your meaning. 

you didn't stop there. you leaned in slightly, your gaze sweeping over both of them, challenging their masculinity. “i'm not just talking about the consequences of what we do to each other,” you punctuated. “i'm talking about you. if i stop being the girl you're so afraid to break... if i actually take what i want from you... could you even handle it? could you handle me?”

the effect was instantaneous. 

the air seemed to vanish from the room as both boys froze, their hands hovering inches from your skin like statues. 

was it just that easy? 

they had been treating you like a fragile thing, but you had just reminded them that you were also a woman with a hunger that could rival their own. 

zayne felt a tremor of genuine uncertainty ripple through his chest, his dark eyes squinting as he realized... you weren't just a recipient of their lust. because you were also capable of undoing them.

a nervous, triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you forced it. you could see the doubt creeping into their expressions, the way their bravado was being replaced by a sudden, frantic rethinking of the entire situation. 

“well?” you prompted, your voice a teasing lilt that mocked their hesitation. “don't just stand there looking like you've seen a ghost. you were so sure of yourselves a moment ago. you were so hungry.” you reached out, your fingers grazing the fabric of caleb's shirt, then zayne's wrist, a mocking reminder of the contact they had been so terrified to initiate. 

“touch me, then. if you're as brave as you're acting, prove it.”

the silence that followed was deafening. 

caleb's frown remained deeply on his face, his eyes slowly moving down the swell of your breasts, gulping, but he couldn't even bring himself to extend his hands. 

the boys, who had been so bold in their intentions, were now suddenly behaving like hesitating little boys. caleb snapped his eyes away from your chest, his face flushing a deep, embarrassed crimson—while zayne’s gaze drifted away for a split second, his usual stoicism crumbling into a visible uncertainty. 

all you could do was watch them, because the tension was no longer just about lust; it was about the exhilarating unknown of what would happen if you truly let go. 

you had thrown down the gauntlet, and now, the ball was in their court.

it was already evident though. you already knew the answer.

they were sinful enough to want you, but not enough to touch where sin waited most. 

“never mind,” you whispered into the thickening silence. you made a reluctant, jerky movement, stepping back once more. before they could find their voices or their courage, you turned on your heel, your heart thundering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and walked away. 

you practically ran, your lungs burning as you navigated the familiar streets between zayne's house and your own. the cool night air hit your flushed skin, but it did nothing to dampen the fire still smoldering in your core. 

you didn't stop until you had burst through your own front door, fumbling with the lock before slamming it shut behind you. leaning your back against the wood, you finally released the breath you realized you had been holding since the moment the tension had snapped. the house was silent, your parents are probably upstairs. 

your heart was still a wild thing, drumming a frantic, uneven beat in your ears. 

fuck.

you breathed, sliding down the door until you were curled on the floor. what would have happened if you hadn't walked away? if you had stayed, if you had let them touch you, there would have been no turning back. the boundary between friendship and something sinful would have been erased in a single, feverish moment.

a heavy sensation settled in your stomach, a feeling that was difficult to name. 

you felt... dirty. 

but as you sat there in the dim light of your hallway, you realized the sensation had nothing to do with the way they had looked at you or the way their hands had hovered near your skin. it wasn't because of them; it was because of yourself. 

because you hadn't just been willing to let them touch you; you had been craving it.

the thought of indulging in both of them made a hot blush creep up your neck. the idea of being caught between them felt scandalous. you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you would have enjoyed it. you would have relished the way they looked at you, the way they fought for your attention, and the way they would have worshipped your body.

“jesus christ,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands, your fingers digging into your scalp. 

you hated it. 

you hated how easily your resolve had crumbled, how quickly your mind had drifted toward the delicious, dark possibilities of what could have been. you were supposed to be the one in control, the one who kept the boundaries intact, yet here you were, trembling in the dark because you had realized how much you wanted to be ruined by them.

unbeknownst to you, that very same night, you had deeply embedded yourself within caleb and zayne's heads. and their wounds had only gotten deeper. 

the silence of caleb’s bedroom was a lie. 

the air was thick with the sound of his own ragged, desperate breathing. he had practically stumbled through his front door, his mind a chaotic storm of your scent and the memory of your beautiful eyes. 

he felt like he was drowning, the pressure in his chest so immense that he felt he might actually suffocate if he didn't find some way to release the tension coiling in his gut. he didn't even bother turning on the lights, moving through the shadows of his room like a man possessed until his hand found the hidden stash in his bedside drawer.

his fingers curled around the soft fabric of your underwear, the one that he had stolen and kept in his pocket when you were doing laundry together. 

a silent, shameful theft that had become his most private ritual. 

he pulled them out, the fabric feeling like a holy relic in his trembling hands. he brought them to his face, burying his nose in the material and inhaling deeply. he breaths you in, and a pained sound escaped his throat, a sob that was half moan. it felt like he was trying to pull your very soul into his lungs just to stop the ache.

“i should've...” slowly, he got onto his sheets, the friction of the fabric against his skin feeling like nothing compared to the phantom sensation of your body. 

and he pressed the underwear against himself, pressing the stolen fabric against his hardening length. his movements were frantic and uncoordinated, driven by a desperation that bordered on madness. he was moaning, a series of broken, whimpering sounds that filled the dark room, each one a testament to the agony of his restraint. 

"fuck... y/n..." he choked out, the name a prayer and a curse all at once. he was haunted by the memory of how close he had been to you, how he had felt the heat radiating from your skin, and the crushing weight of his own cowardice. 

he should have reached out. his fingers tightened their grip around his dick, forcing the pre-cum out of the slit. 

he should have grabbed your waist and pulled you into him before you could even think of running. he should have been the man you challenged, not the boy who stood paralyzed by the fear of ruining you. tears began to sting his eyes, blurring his vision as he worked himself toward a release that felt more like a surrender than a pleasure. 

he felt pathetic, whining into the empty air of his bedroom, jerking himself off until his muscles ached. to keep from crying out too loudly, to keep from biting his lip until it bled like he had earlier, he reached for the silver dog tag hanging around his neck. he bit down on the metal, the cold, hard surface grounding him even as his mind drifted back to the curve of your hips and the defiant tilt of your chin.

every stroke was a reminder of what he had lost in that moment you turned away. the "should have's" looped in his mind like a mantra, and it only drove him to a fever pitch of frustration. 

he wanted to be the one to consume you, to prove he could handle the fire you had promised, but instead, he was left alone in the dark, clinging to a piece of your clothing and the ghost of your scent.

caleb’s hand was a blur of motion, his grip tight and demanding as he worked himself up. he pressed your underwear harder against the head of his cock, the soft lace and cotton teasing his most sensitive nerves.

he was lost in a fever dream of you, his mind conjuring the sensation of your soft thighs wrapping around his waist and the way your breath would feel hot against his neck. every slide of his palm, every desperate tug, was a frantic attempt to imagine you, to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't been a coward earlier.

“please... y/n... please,” he whimpered, the words dissolving into a guttural, choked sound as the first wave of climax began to crash over him. 

his body stiffened, his back arching off the sheets as he felt the sudden, violent surge of release. he came with a force that left him gasping, a heavy, pulsing eruption that felt like his very soul was being poured out of him. but instead of collapsing into the exhausted peace of a finished act, caleb found himself unable to stop. his hand, still slick and trembling, didn't fall away. he couldn't let it. 

oh what would have happened if he touched your breasts? how would it feel against his hands? 

“hmnnhg....” he began to stroke himself again. his dick was hypersensitive, but he didn't care about the slight ache or the overwhelming sensation. he was chasing the high, chasing the memory of your scent.

he kept going, his movements becoming slower, and even more desperate as he tried to force his body to find that peak again, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to drown out the reality of his loneliness.

he bit down on his dog tag again, the metal clinking against his teeth as he let out a long, low whine. 

would you unbutton yourself for him? so he could have better access inside? “ahh... would you have....?”

no matter how many times he came, it would never be enough to fill the void you had left behind. he would keep stroking, he would keep yearning, until his muscles gave out or the sun rose to expose his shame.

but caleb wasn't the only one doing this. there was also somebody else. 

zayne was a silent, simmering furnace of controlled agony. he didn't retreat to the comfort of his bed. instead, he found himself in the cold sanctuary of his bathroom, the moonlight filtering through the small window to cast long shadows across the tile. 

he stood with his back pressed hard against the cool wall, his head tilted back so that his throat was exposed, a vulnerable line of pale skin in the dim light. his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth slightly ajar as he fought to regulate the heavy, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

his hand was wrapped tightly around his thick cock, his movements precise and rhythmic, yet fueled by a simmering resentment. he wasn't just seeking release, he was punishing himself. every slide of his palm was a silent accusation, a tell of the regret that was eating him alive. 

he should have been the one to bridge the gap. he should have ignored the logic and the caution that usually defined him, and instead, he should have reached out and claimed you. he should have pressed you against the wall and shut you up with a kiss so deep and so demanding that the very thought of running would have vanished from your mind.

the thought of your lips the way they had been parted, glistening and inviting, sent a jolt of desire through him. but as the thought deepened, it was tainted by a bitter, poisonous jealousy. 

you hadn't even kissed him. you let caleb kiss you. you let him taste you. the memory of caleb’s lips grazing your skin, of the way caleb had been the one to actually make contact, made zayne’s jaw tighten until it ached. 

it made zayne’s strokes grow faster, more aggressive. the jealousy drove him to push himself harder than he ever had before, like he was stroking to erase the image of caleb's lips on you, to replace it with the sensation of his own.

his breathing became a series of manly gasps that echoed off the tiled walls. he imagined his hands gripping your hips with a firm, unyielding strength, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left for doubt or denial. he imagined the taste of you, the way you would moan his name if he finally broke his restraint and took what he so desperately craved.

the friction was becoming almost painful, a searing heat that centered in his groin and radiated outward, but he welcomed the sting. it was a distraction from the mental image of you running away, leaving him standing there like a fool, a spectator to his own desire. he needed to feel you. 

as he neared the edge, his movements became frantic, his hand a blur of desperate motion. he let out a low, guttural groan, his head thumping back against the wall as the first wave of climax hit him. 

and then he stood there, slumped against the wall, chest heaving, with the only thought of what could have been if he was brave enough to get rid of that tank top off of you. 

for the rest of the night, they didn't stop thinking about you. 

but the universe has a cruel way of turning a moment of into a fading echo, and for the three of you, that moment was the beginning of the end. 

as the sun rose the next morning, neither caleb nor zayne knew that the feverish connection they had shared in the dark would be the last time your souls truly touched. the electricity that had crackled between you in that room didn't ignite a fire that burned forever. instead, it acted like a flash of lightning blinding, terrifying, and then gone, leaving only a lingering darkness in its wake.

the distance didn't happen all at once, though. it was a slow, agonizing erosion. myou were the one who initiated the retreat, driven by a cocktail of shame, confusion, and a desperate need to reclaim the pieces of yourself you felt you had lost that night. you began to build walls, brick by heavy brick. 

you stopped answering the late night texts, and you became a ghost at the friday gatherings where they were present, and eventually, you simply stopped showing up altogether. 

for caleb and zayne, the silence was a deafening weight. they both waited, hovering in the periphery of your life, hoping for a sign, a glance, a single word that would bridge the chasm you had created. they both felt the same hollow ache in their chests, but neither of them had the courage to chase a girl who was so clearly running away. 

they could only watch you vanish from a distance, both of them wondering if they had been too slow, too scared, or too much of the “little boys” you had mocked.

the inevitable arrived with graduation. the day should have been a celebration of beginnings, but for the three of you, it was a silent funeral for what might have been. as you walked across the stage, your eyes scanned the crowd, perhaps searching for a familiar face, but you found only strangers. there were no congratulatory texts, no flowers delivered to your door, no lingering glances exchanged in the hallway. 

the three of you, who had once been so intimately entwined by desire and tension, had become nothing more than names in a yearbook, memories tucked away in the dusty corners of your minds.

you vanished into your own pathway, throwing yourself into studies, work, and new cities, trying to drown out the memory of the two boys who had once looked at you like you were a god. you told yourself you had forgotten. you told yourself that the heat, the sweat, and the desperate, lonely nights they spent thinking of you were just a fever dream of youth.

it was all just a part of youth. 

You kept checking your phone anyway. Paranoid he'd said something to the others, let something slip in the group chat without thinking, like he sometimes did when he was caught up in his own head. Nothing so far. That was either reassuring or a bad sign and you couldn't tell which.

But today was Wednesday. Wednesday meant math tutoring. Wednesday meant Xavier.

He'd been helping you with your math classes because he never sighed when you asked him to explain something twice. Never made you feel stupid for losing the thread halfway through a formula you'd understood perfectly ten minutes ago. He'd just turn the notebook around and start from the beginning, patient in an unhurried way that was so him. You'd gotten used to his dorm, his desk, the way he organized his notes in colored tabs that he denied caring about.

What you hadn't gotten used to was the five days of silence sitting between you now. Or the fact that the last time you'd seen him, he'd been on his knees with his face between your thighs and his fingers inside of you.

You shook your head hard, like that was going to do anything.

The morning had been a whole exercise in damage control. You'd stood in front of your mirror for a long time, turning sideways, checking necklines, holding up three different tops before settling on a sweater. The marks Rafayel had left weren't subtle—he'd been thorough about that, almost pointedly so—and the last thing you needed was Xavier noticing something you'd have to explain. Comfortable sweater. Favorite jeans. Just enough makeup to look like you'd rolled out of bed this way, which had taken an embarrassing amount of effort to pull off. You'd looked at yourself in the mirror and thought, this is fine, then left before you could change your mind.

Campus was busy, it was mid afternoon and people were moving between buildings, someone's music was bleeding out of a cracked window on the second floor of the humanities block. You walked with your hands in your pockets and tried to think about literally anything else.

It didn't work. Your brain kept circling back to that night in Zayne's dorm.

You arrived at his building a few minutes early on purpose, not wanting to be standing awkward in the hallway when he showed up. The spare key he'd given you months ago—back when this was all still simple, back when tutoring was just tutoring—was already in your hand before you reached the door. You let yourself in, dropped your bag on the desk, and stood in the middle of the room for a moment just breathing. It smelled like him in here.

You pulled out your textbook. Pulled out your notebook. Uncapped a pen, stared at the blank page, and wrote the date at the top like that counted as being productive.

He'd be back from lecture any minute. You pressed the pen down harder on the page and stared at the date until the words stopped swimming.

----------

Xavier had been having a terrible day and was not going to pretend otherwise.

The past two days had been running on a loop he couldn't shut off. He'd seen Rafayel walking with you across campus. He knew that look on Rafayel's face. He knew it because he felt it himself every time you were within arm's reach.

Since Zayne's dorm, Xavier had been hiding a hunger that had nothing to do with food. He'd had his mouth on you. Had felt you cum on his tongue and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.

You hadn't texted back. Not once in five days, not even a heads up about today. He'd checked his phone every 30 minutes and by early afternoon he'd made his peace with the fact that you weren't going to show up and settled into a foul mood about it.

It was jealousy. He wasn't going to dress it up. He'd been crazy about you since day one and the idea of Rafayel getting there first while he sat in his dorm being patient and reasonable was the kind of thing that made a bad day significantly worse.

All he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe eat something. Sit in the quiet of his room and not think about any of it for a few hours.

He unlocked his door, pushed it open—

And stopped.

You were at his desk. Exactly where you always sat, textbook open, pen in hand, looking up at him the second you heard the door.

"Hey," you said softly, and smiled.

Xavier didn't move.

He stood in there with his keys in hand and just looked at you. The afternoon light from the window. The way you were watching him, trying to read him. The small smile that was starting to waver as you noticed something was off.

He dropped his keys on a small table and stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him.

"You look tired," you said carefully.

"I am."

"We can reschedule." Standing to give your back to him you started stacking things, moving with a nervous energy he'd learned to recognize over several months of Wednesday afternoons. " You should rest and we can figure out another—"

"I've been texting you for five days"

You went still. Your hand stayed flat on your notebook.

"I know,"

"And you've been what...Busy."

It wasn't a question and you both knew the answer. You looked at him and he watched you try to figure out what version of the truth to offer.

"I just needed some time," you said finally. "To think."

"About what happened?"

"Yes."

Xavier unslung his bag and let it drop to the floor. He crossed the room without rushing, footsteps silent on the rug, and came to stand directly behind you. He felt you register how close he was, the slight change in your breathing, your shoulders pulling in just slightly.

He didn't touch you yet.

"And?" he said, low, right behind your ear. "What did you decide?"

"Xavier—"

"I've been thinking about it too." His hand found your waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your sweater "Every single day."

You made a small sound, your knuckles had gone white around the notebook.

"I thought—" you started and then stopped.

"What?"

"I thought maybe it would be easier if we just... didn't talk about it."

He almost laughed. "How's that working for you?"

"Not great," you admitted, barely a whisper.

His lips found the skin just below your ear—barely, just the suggestion of a kiss, the warmth of his mouth hovering more than landing—and the breath you pulled in was loud enough for him to hear.

"You've been avoiding all of us"

"I haven't—"

"You are taking a different way to class now." Another barely there brush of his lips, this time along your jaw. "I've seen you."

Your knees buckled slightly.

"You're not going to say anything?" he asked softly.

"You're not giving me a lot of room to talk."

"You've had five days to talk."

"That's—" You let out a shaky breath. "That's not fair."

"You're right." His lips brushed along your jaw again, in no particular rush. "It's not."

Despite everything, something close to a laugh escaped you, breathless and reluctant. Your fingers were still around the notebook, the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You are genuinely terrible at math and you still show up every week. You're not scared of hard things."

You went very still.

"So stop running," he said. Simple.

Before you could find an answer to that, both his hands settled on your hips—grip firm—to turn you around and then lifted you onto the desk in one easy motion, papers scattering off the edge to the floor.

Neither of you looked at them.

Your arms went around his shoulders and you held on, fingers twisting into his shirt. He leaned in close and stopped just short of your mouth. His lips brushed yours so lightly it barely counted.

"Do you want me to stop?"

You shook your head.

"Words." His thumb pressed into soft skin under your sweater, "Bunny."

You looked at him and noticed the sleepy ease was completely gone. What replaced it was something dark and very, very hungry.

"Don't stop"

He stepped between your knees.

His mouth came down on yours and his hands gripped your thighs to hold you at the edge of the desk. He kissed you with the full weight of however long he'd been waiting to do exactly this. Months of Wednesday afternoons. Months of watching you chew the end of your pen, pretending he wasn't. His tongue slid into your mouth and you felt all of it at once, his patience and restraint and the end of both.

When he broke away his hands dropped straight to your waistband—button, zipper, no hesitation—head down, focused entirely on the task. You pulled your sweater over your head. He didn't look up. You got the sweater off and dropped it somewhere and sat there in your bra watching him work the denim down your legs.

The jeans hit the floor and his eyes moved up your body, you watched the shift happen. His focus didn't leave his face, it changed into something else. Something colder. You'd seen that expression exactly once before, at a party freshman year when a guy behind you had gotten too comfortable, and Xavier had gone very still across the room. He hadn't even needed to move. The guy saw him and took two steps back on instinct.

He was looking at your chest.

The bruises. Rafayel's bruises. Clear in the afternoon light. The silence in the room was excruciating.

"Was this—" He stopped and then started again, quieter. One thumb came up and traced the edge of the darkest mark with a touch so light it made your throat tighten, while his other hand found your hip and held it in a grip that was the opposite of light. "Rafayel."

He already knew the answer and was just giving you the chance to say it.

You nodded. Your voice wasn't available.

The sound he made was low. Short. A sound that meant something had cracked open and he was choosing not to let out all the way. He stood there for a second with his thumb still resting against the bruise and then he got his hands under the backs of your thighs, lifting you off the desk.

He carried you to his bed and set you down against the sheets, the light from the window was not on your side—it hit every mark with even more clarity, nothing softened, nothing hidden. Xavier stood over you and looked at them for long enough that you started to feel every single one.

"He paints like he does everything else," he said as he climbed over you, hands trailing down your sides. "Loud and fast. Like the point is for everyone to know he was there." His fingers traced the edge of each bruise, one after the other, "He wasn't thinking about you. He was thinking about what he wanted to leave behind."

"Xav—"

"I'm not angry at you." His eyes came up to yours briefly, clear about that. "I'm not."

He reached behind you and unhooked your bra with one hand, pulling it off and dropping it over the side of the bed. The breath he drew in through his nose when he saw more bruises all over your soft breasts was slow and controlled.

"He's known you two years," Xavier said, almost to himself, hands cupping you, thumbs moving in slow circles across your skin. "Two years and he still went at you like he was on a timer." His eyes flicked up. "Were you even ready?"

The question caught you completely off guard.

"I—yes."

"Did he ask?"

"He did"

His hands moved back to your waist, then the waistband of your panties—slow the whole way down, no sudden movements, making a point about the difference between his way and the alternative.

He pulled them off and sat back on his heels to look at you for a moment.

"I've known you for two years too," his hand ran up the inside of your calf, unhurried, no destination. "I know when you're stuck before you say anything. I know which problems make you want to give up and which ones just need more time." His palm reached your knee and stopped. "He doesn't know any of that. He doesn't know you."

His eyes came up to yours and held there, you knew he wasn't just talking about math problems anymore.

"I do," he said. Not a boast. Just a fact he'd been sitting on for a while.

His hand moved higher, and your breath caught, the afternoon light kept falling across both of you while the room got really warm, really fast.

His hand pressed flat against your pussy and you felt it everywhere, a warm steady pressure right where you'd been aching since he'd lifted you onto the desk. He held it there and then his body slid lower on the mattress and his mouth found the inside of your thigh.

"You're soaked" he murmured against your skin, and you could feel him almost smiling when he said it.

"Xavie—"

"I heard you." He pressed his lips to the other thigh, higher this time, dragging slow. " And no matter what you say, I'm not rushing."

Your hips lifted off the bed and his hands came down on them immediately, pinning you back to the mattress without looking up.

"I need you to—"

"I know what you need." His mouth moved higher. Still not close enough. "That's exactly why I'm taking my time."

You made a sound that was mostly frustration and he had the audacity to hum against your inner thigh like he was perfectly comfortable staying there all afternoon.

"Please..."

He looked up from between your thighs, chin resting against your skin, watching your face with that particular focus that had been driving you insane for months. "Tell me what you want."

"You know what I want."

"I want to hear you say it."

Your hands twisted into the sheets. "My pussy. I want your mouth on my pussy."

His next kiss landed directly beside where you needed him, deliberately off center, and you cursed loud enough that it surprised both of you.

"Say it again," he said, lips hovering close enough now that you could feel his warm breath.

"Xavier, I swear to god—"

"Again."

"I want you to eat my pussy." The words came out steadier than you expected.

That was what he'd been waiting for. Not the polite version of you that sat across from him every Wednesday with a highlighter and a textbook. He wanted the other one. The one underneath that. The one that had come apart in Zayne's dorm and hadn't fully put herself back together since.

His mouth found your clit.

Your hands flew to his hair before a moan finished leaving your throat, fingers twisting in, and your thighs tried to close around his head on reflex—too much, too direct—but his hands had your legs pinned wide.

"Don't," he said against you.

"I can't—it's too—"

"You can." He pressed a single open mouthed kiss to your entrance "Stay open for me."

Then his tongue moved again. Long, slow strokes from your entrance all the way up to your clit, learning you, tasting how long you'd been waiting for this to happen again. You stopped trying to be quiet. Stopped trying to be anything in particular. Your hips rocked against his mouth and your fingers pulled at his hair. He swallowed every bit of you and kept going.

Your hips rolled harder, chasing pressure, and Zayne's voice surfaced somewhere in the back of Xavier's head with terrible timing.

"Her body will tell you when she's ready to take control. Give it to her when she does. There needs to be trust, or she'll feel uncomfortable."

Xavier pulled his mouth off you.

The noise you made was indignant. "Don't you —"

"Come here." He was moving, shifting his body flat against the mattress, hands at your waist pulling you up with him. "Up."

"Fuck, I was literally about to—"

"I know." He looked up at you from where he was lying, mouth still wet "Come up here."

You stared at him. He waited. His hands were steady on your hips.

"You want me to—"

"Sit on my face." He said it the same way he explained math. Clear. Direct. No room for misunderstanding. "Put your weight down and let me finish what I started."

His words made your face go hot all over again. You shifted forward anyway, bringing your knees to either side of his head, hovering just above him.

"You're not sitting down," he observed.

"I'm aware."

"I'm not going to break."

"I know that."

"Then—"

"I'm just—" You exhaled. "Give me a second."

He gave you time. His hands stayed loose on your hips, not pulling, just present. Waiting. His eyes were on your face the whole time, just watching you work through whatever was keeping you hovering five inches above him.

"What if I'm too—"

"You're not."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"You were going to say too heavy, or too much, or something like that." His thumbs moved against your hip bones. "You're not. I promise you're not."

Something in your chest went a little loose at that.

You let your weight down.

His hands pulled your hips flush against his face the second you did, tongue finding your clit immediately and the sound that came out of you echoed off every wall in the room. Your hands grabbed his shoulders and then his forearms, whatever you could reach, your whole body trembling with the effort of staying upright.

He was thorough, paying attention to every small reaction. Every time your breath snagged on a particular stroke he came back to it. Every time your thighs tensed he slowed down and built it back up from the beginning. Your fingers ended in his hair, pulling harder than you meant to, and he made a rough sound against you that meant he didn't mind.

"Xavie—" His name came out wrecked "Fuck, I'm gonna—please, I—"

His mouth lifted.

"Nononononono, I will fucking ki—"

"Ask me." his hands were holding you just above his lips with an iron grip. "Properly."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Ask me first."

You looked down at him—hair completely destroyed, mouth slick, looking up at you with those eyes and something short circuited in your brain.

"Please make me cum," you begged. "Please—"

"Dirtier."

Your face went crimson. His expression didn't change.

"Please," you said, the embarrassment burning through your whole body and dissolving into something else, "make my needy pussy cum on your mouth."

He groaned, the sound vibrating against the inside of your thigh as he pulled you down hard and put his mouth back on you, making every previous thing feel like a warm up.

He used his thumb and middle finger to spread your pussy open, forefinger lifting the little hood over your clit so there was nothing between the bundle of nerves and his tongue. He licked into you in heavy, soaking strokes, relentless and consuming, like he'd been waiting specifically for those words and was paying back every second of the wait.

You broke. Completely and loudly and without a single shred of composure.

Your hands twisted so hard into his hair you felt him grunt against you, thighs shaking around his head, his name and sounds that weren't words spilling out of you into the quiet of his dorm room while the light from the window fell across both of you steady and indifferent.

He didn't stop. Even after. Even when you were too sensitive to bear it and your hands were pushing weakly at his head instead of pulling, he kept his tongue moving through every aftershock, slow now, drawing out every last shiver, like stopping would mean missing something he wasn't willing to miss.

"Please stop, Xavie—"

"But you just said—" he started.

"Don't."

"—very clearly, very specifically—"

"Xavier."

"—that you wanted—"

"Don't say it"

"—you are being," he paused and smiled "remarkably shy. We've done this twice"

"I hate you."

"No you don't." His hands were still on your hips. "Sit down again. I'm not done"

Perm tag: @thealunari @i-idk-i-guess @hopelesslala @pearlescenthoney @stillseiims @xavisastrophil @thelastpolarbear @groovyravenagain @nanaminsmuse @darkairenkagamine @lunahaswings @ks-collection @calebunny @aweebs @crimsonrubie @lemurian-girl @aiycnlyme @grecianotes @yourlocalcatscammer @thicckage @goddesssevenseas @silvernight-m

Decoration: Rafayel and Sylus piss each other off way too often with their decorative taste. Sylus wants everything in black, deep brown, red or gray tones, no sunlight and smooth surfaces. Rafayel craves bright colors, sunlight and fresh air. Decorating one (1) room can take them WEEKS, they just argue in the half-made room endlessly. At the end, it's you, Caleb and Xavier making that place a home :p.

Overall dynamics:

Caleb and Xavier have bonded over a shared passion: hating Lumiere.

Caleb hates him because he always steals too much of your attention! And why did you need so many Lumiere plushies as a child? >:( and Xavier, well, we know the reasons. But maybe, in one of those rare occasions where Xavier (reluctantly) dressed as Lumiere for you, Caleb understood the appeal /wink wink.

Rafayel now has a lot of bodyguards! If you're not available, the next one he's immediately calling is Caleb.

His logic is: Sylus is too annoying and actually puts him in danger when he's supposed to NOT do that, and if he takes him to exhibitions he steals the spotlight. Xavier gets sleepy and sneaks away with him often, which is not entirely bad, but where's the fun in just sleeping? And Zayne... Zayne actually makes him work. 😫

Xavier had mastered the art of teasing Rafayel.

He's always ragebaiting him about the colors of his paintings, the shape of his drawings or any eccentric accessory Raf wears. He gets all pouty and grumpy after successfully falling for Xav's ragebait, who is now obliged to kiss him for forgiveness.

I'll never paint anything for you again! >:C Now, now. I never mentioned it being ugly, it just... looks like chives! :) ... It's SEAWEED 💢💢

His forgiveness ticket if kisses don't work, is taking him to a seafood hot pot place. Xavier is very aware of how bad Raf's eating habits are, so he sneaks some more shrimps of his own (the purest act of love from the one and only, Xavier Shen !!)

Zayne is now responsible for Caleb's health.

He's a bit strict about it, and luckily, Caleb has healthy habits regarding exercise and diet, but he never manifests his pain. Zayne usually comes from behind, hugging him and gently squeezing his shoulders, and a whine never fails to escape from Caleb when Zayne touches the sore, aching point where his flesh and metal collide. Zayne massages him, applies anti-inflammatory cream and scolds him for keeping things from him. Later he'll bring him sweets as an apology if he was too harsh.

Talking about Caleb's arm, Sylus and Xavier are involved in its maintenance and repairs! Sylus does quick fixes and adjustments, Xavier adds new features and is actively looking for ways to return sensibility to his arm.

I almost forgot about it, Zayne is pretty much in charge of every medical appointment and all, but oh man. If Sylus isn't a whole headache about it...

Take your clothes off. Oh. How demanding, doc. Are you that excited? Quit the nonsense, you reek of blood.

Sylus, you're not slick. Wearing dark clothes won't fool the literal surgeon living with you.

Some other headcanons:

If Caleb has trouble sleeping, he usually goes to Zayne's office, where he can also find you, sleeping on the sofa as Zayne types on his computer, working late as usual. Zayne always asks him what happened, no matter if the reason is always "nightmares", he will take a couple of minutes to listen before Caleb curls up against your body, finally finding peace. He'll cover your bodies with a warm blanket until he's done, and will gently wake him up to take you to bed. In the morning, the three of you are all cozy on Zayne's bed. <3

Rafayel will never admit it, but he's happy to have another person to invite to Talia's concerts. He also loves the effort Sylus puts in dressing elegantly for the occasion, getting matching suits or jewelry.

Sylus picks you and Xavier from work every time he's in Linkon. If you had an exhausting mission or a bad day and fell asleep in the car, he'll drive around the city just to let you both rest for a little more before dropping you off. But he takes photos of you, beware of sleeping with your mouths wide open!

Imagine Caleb and Xavier repairing or doing maintenance on Traceback II 🥹. They both know there’s not much they can do for the ship, unfortunately. But seeing the excitement in Caleb’s eyes as he marvels at the magnificence of such a powerful spacecraft, following Xavier through what could be described more as ruins than cabins, asking questions, making use of whatever still works… Now it’s more like a hobby between them, spending their afternoons fixing circuits, soldering parts, fixing engines… It’s a moment where they get along so well that you wouldn’t even want to interrupt them, even though it’s already dark and neither of them has come out of there.

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